


Don't Read This

by paroledog



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: BNF Deadpool, But don't worry that'll change soon enough, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Chat Logs, College Student Peter Parker, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Multiple discussions of Wolverine's sexual attractiveness or lack thereof, Peter Parker is bottomphobic, Spider-Man's bussy juice, Superhero-typical emotional constipation, dubcon elements, early 2000s fanfic culture references, fictional non-con mention, the title is not about the fic itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paroledog/pseuds/paroledog
Summary: Peter Parker happens upon the strange and disturbing world of Spider-Man Real Person Fiction. He sends a snippet of one such story to Deadpool, thinking they’ll both have a laugh over the weird shit fans get their rocks off to.Little does he know that XxMrsReynolds69420xX, the undisputed, highly prolific Queen of Spider-Man RPF™, is someone he’s already familiar with.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 114
Kudos: 235





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT:** Creator's style MUST be enabled for this story to be read as intended! If you have "Hide custom styles on works" checked in your preferences then please uncheck. 
> 
> NOW WITH REFERENCES LINKED! Many of them lead to YouTube links with music so please be aware of that. None of them should lead to any NSFW images.
> 
> Any similarities to real fics that the fake fics mentioned may have are unintentional. 
> 
> I think in the Spider-Man/Deadpool comics somewhere Deadpool mentions most of his fanfics are about Spider-Man going apeshit or something like that? If the tidbit is actually a figment of my imagination, then oh well, but it's the inspiration behind this idea.
> 
> Peter is early to mid twenties. I have no specific version in mind. He can just be whoever you think is cute. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter Parker had seen some shit.

Being Spider-Man’s photographer, he regularly found himself tangled with libelous articles about Spider-Man, and he could’ve sued if Spider-Man were a legal entity. He had experienced countless evil monologues about all the ways he was going to be ripped limb from limb, as well as mad scientists who TMI'd about wanting to vivisect him slowly and see all the ways the irradiated spider venom had changed his innermost makeup. Then there were the handsy fans, some who were even shameless enough to cop a feel during the middle of a rescue.

The list went on and on.

When _Top 10 Spider-Man Real Person Fiction You Have To Read Right Now_ showed up on his Google suggested articles, he wasn’t surprised. Not one bit.

Just yesterday, he had read an article about a porn company putting out a Spider-Man-themed video. They had the decency to at least name the film “Mr. Arachnid Plows Busty Blonde Super Soaked Slut XXX” and not reference him directly. He had even tried to watch the porn (for science), but he didn’t want to fork out the $9.95. PornHub did not have a pirated version up, just a blurry two second clip of a woman’s heavy breasts bouncing up and down as she moaned throatily on top of a man in red and blue pajamas. 

He’d sent a screenshot of the clip to Johnny Storm. An hour later, after careful consideration, he had sent the picture to Deadpool as well. They were two of the few contacts on his burner phone who could appreciate that type of thing. 

Johnny had commented that he had several of these knock off porn videos too, and that he was better looking than all the actors these companies hired. Deadpool responded by giving him the link to the entire Mr. Arachnid porn video on Vimeo, along with the message _have fun!_

Peter did not know if Deadpool had actually bought the porn and uploaded it for him, or if his porn-searching skills simply far surpassed his own. He didn’t really want to know, to be honest.

Peter clicked the _Top 10 Spider-Man Real Person Fiction You Have To Read Right Now_ article.

The first paragraph explained what Real Person Fiction was. It seemed like content of the Mr. Arachnid-variety, but written. He scrolled down to the first story listed, which had been praised by the article as “extremely detailed,” “spot on characterization,” and “even though it’s a rare pair, it’ll definitely convert you.”

He snorted. How could characterization be spot on if no one knew who he was under the mask? 

The link for the story opened to a new window on a red and white site. The title was _[And when we die and float away (into the night, the Milky Way)](https://youtu.be/voNEgCKzves?t=158)_. This was a reference to something, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember. Under the title was the author’s pen name, which happened to be XxMrsReynolds69420xX. 

_In a world where omegas are looked down upon, Spider-Man takes it upon himself to champion the downtrodden, until one day, his secret is out. He’s an omega, and as he goes on the run, he falls in love with a certain beefy Canadian hero…_

_TW for violence, non-con, temporary character death, oviposition, and killer bats_

The summary was confusing. What exactly was an omega, fanfiction-lore-wise? He Googled it, said, “Okay, so a biologically mandated bottom” to himself, and went back to reading. The biology aspect wasn’t particularly unfeasible in a world where his own body had been taken over by an alien symbiote and people could turn into lizards. Sure, it was clearly a plot device to facilitate oodles of gay porn, but he didn’t mind that much. Peter wasn’t homophobic. Yeah. He had even been part of the Gay-Straight Alliance in college, although he had failed to attend every single meeting other than the ones at the beginning of the semester because of Spider-Man tasks and the most he’d ever done was buy their cupcakes at campus bake sales. He was Spider-Man first and semi-gay second? Wait, that sounded wrong. He hadn’t really explored the dude-inclined side of him outside of opening material in incognito browser tabs.

Yesterday, he’d exited out of the full length Mr. Arachnid porn after a minute because neither of the actors in it were his type. This fanfiction would probably meet the same fate.

### Notes:

> welcome to another one of my ficcies! *waves*  
>    
>  idk Spiderman’s person name so i made it up. also i know it’s ""Spider-Man"" but that looks stupid so he’s Spiderman in the fic. like why have a dash when it makes life harder for everyone? so lame. almost like he wanted to [avoid a copyright](https://www.syfy.com/syfywire/little-known-sci-fi-fact-why-stan-lee-put-hyphen-spider-man) XD comment with waht kinks you wanna see next and i might incorporate them in future chapters! imma update whenever i feel like it so dont expect consistency. im a britney not a lady gaga ok? now go forth and read and leave lots of comments! toodles ~~~

The author’s note seemed innocuous enough, but it all went downhill from there. He did not know why he took it upon himself to read several paragraphs describing how limber his body was and how he was a brunette with sensual chocolaty orbs. Chocolate was such a cliché for brown eyes. Couldn’t this author think of anything marginally more original? And orbs? The mental image made him think of a Spider-Mannequin with marbles for eyes. He shuddered.

Somehow, this piece of work had been viewed well over five hundred thousand times and had accumulated over ten thousand of the website’s accolade-measuring units.

Regardless, he felt compelled to keep reading. The story held a different, more morbid kind of fascination for him than the porn video. The video did not devote any thought to his personal life or what he might’ve looked like under the mask, but had merely borrowed his identity for a riff on a garden variety porn scenario. On the other hand, the fanfiction actually went into extreme detail, in varying directions, of what he was like. Subjects that had been written about included the foods he enjoyed (hot dogs were accurate, and of course had been used as a dick metaphor), where he lived (Jamaica was close, but no cigar), his height (he was NOT 5’8”), his day job (an arachnologist? Really?), and his real name (Steven, for some reason). 

At the top of every chapter was an author’s note, usually saying _thx for all the comments, <3 you all, soz i couldn’t put in all the kinks you guys wanted_ or _sorry its late i went on vacation. multi-chp update for you angels, mwah!! ^.~_

The author seemed to go on vacation a lot.

“This is absolute garbage,” he said to himself. Then he read the entire thing.

He had started reading at around 6:30 PM. It was 2 AM when he had finally finished the thirty two chapter monster, interspersed with lazily adjusting saturation levels and airbrushing Spider-Man’s abs in Photoshop.

Peter rubbed his eyes. The mental image of fanfiction-Spider-Man with perfectly coiffed curly brown hair, tantalizing prosciutto honeysuckle scent, and asshole leaking eggs, Wolverine’s eggs of all people’s, needed to be washed away with sleep. The descriptions of violence were also incredibly visceral, with several paragraphs usually lingering on the smells and how various weapons interacted with flesh. Especially notable was a five paragraph segment that expounded on the differences in bullet velocity between a Beretta M9 and Sig Sauer P320, when Steven Spider-Man had finally decided violence was the answer to omega oppression and was amassing an arsenal. 

He’d even obtained a nuke. The description of the grooves running down the lengths of the bomb had been disturbingly specific. 

_I know its ooc for Spiderman to kill people but i think it’d be supercalifragilisticexpialidociously hot if he did. its what im into, kink fuzz to the left, to the left, all complaints in a box to the left pls kthx,_ said the author’s note at the end of that particular chapter. 

So this writer could spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious perfectly but didn’t know how to use the thesaurus to find epithets outside of “orbs” for eyes? How did that make sense?

Also, there were plenty of superheroes who had killed. Wouldn’t it be easier for the author to just write about them? Hell, it would’ve been more in character for Wolverine to be the omega leaking Bed Bath & Beyond candle-scented juices out his ass and assembling an MG3 machine gun in sixty seconds to rip through an all-alpha battalion. What made Spider-Man so alluring that the author had to change an essential tenet of his personality?

He felt nauseous and slightly violated, but at the same time, it was quite easy to dissociate fanfiction-Spider-Man from himself. After all, he was not named Steven and he was 5’10" (6'0" online), thank you very much. He had also seen clones of himself before, so he had an excuse to mentally compartmentalize Steven as a Spider-Man offshoot, created by someone else.

Also, _why_ did the author choose Wolverine as the love interest? They didn’t talk that often these days, and Logan wasn’t the type of guy he could just invite out for beers (he'd tried). Wolverine had been lionized in the fanfiction as well, although the detail for him was much more accurate, down to the vivid descriptions of his typical wet dog and cigar smell. But in a sexy magnetic animalism way, because dubious hygiene was not hot.

Grudgingly, he also had to admit various parts of Spider-Man’s characterization had been dead on, in costume at least. Some of the dialogue sounded eerily like things he’d said before, although he couldn’t remember where or when he’d said them. The author had probably just watched a lot of Spider-Man news.

He looked at the comments section out of curiosity. Most of them were just run-of-the-mill begging for updates. Others were listings of fetishes he didn’t want to dwell on. A few were gigantic paragraphs speculating on Spider-Man’s civilian life, which the commenters called headcanons. The author often replied with their own Spidey headcanons. 

It was deeply concerning how much time these people had devoted to fantasizing about all sorts of mundanities concerning his daily life, from what Pantone color his dick was to how much he’d paid last year in taxes. Very colorful insults had been thrown out in the comments over what being spider-like had meant for his favorite positions in bed. Some commenters felt like Spider-Man was an Adrian or a Ross, not a Steven. One had even written several paragraphs about why they felt Spider-Man was most likely a Dennis. That comment had actually hurt him deep in his soul. 

None of them ever suggested Peter, which was a massive relief.

For a man forced to have a limited social life, finding a universe where people obsessively cared about every single part of him, including his unremarkable civilian side, was fascinating. It was part of why he worked at the Bugle, other than its willingness to hire freelancers with no professional experience, art background, or comprehensive portfolio. 

Contributing to attacks on his character as his daily work had also desensitized him to reading outrageous things about Spider-Man. Spider-Man even felt like a separate entity sometimes, one that didn’t belong to Peter. When Spider-Man swung through the air and laughed in the face of mortal danger, that felt like wearing someone else’s skin. 

So reading about what people might have thought his other side was like? It was new. It was like reading increasingly elaborate tabloids, as if boring old Peter, the one who was late on the electric bill, was on the level of a British royal or Hollywood starlet.

Yeah, sue him. Maybe he was lonely and just a little self-absorbed. Also, it was kind of hilarious.

But it's not like he was going to lower himself into stoking the Spider-Man fanfiction fire and actually commenting. He’d just have a laugh about it in private and then forget, like he did with the porn yesterday.

He knew Deadpool considered himself a superhero fanboy of sorts, so he sent him a screenshot of a paragraph about Steven Spider-Man kissing Wolverine while being rained on by grey matter and other viscera. Rihanna's Umbrella lyrics were artfully interspersed throughout.

That guy  
  


Thought you might get a kick out of this  
  
  
no i dont wat makes you thnik that  
  
  
IDK. Wigs me out that this stuff exists. Why do people write these things?   
  
  
idk bc ppl have all sorts of fetishes and kink-shaming isnt spiderman like?  
  
  
just a guess tho  
  
  
lollerskates  
  
  
jk jk jk joanne kancelled rowling its dumb ia ia  
  
  
did u read the entire thing?????  
  
  
…Yes. It wasn’t terribly written, all things considered. Just super duper weird?  
  
  
y was it weird? other than the eggs and buthole juices  
  
  
eggs r sexy af imo. theyre the best part of a brlanced breakfsat  
  
  
but i guess the abo thngiy can be just a little weird if u nvr read it b4  
  
  
bet the author didnt even want to write tthat and was jsut kudos whoring  
  
  
smdh  
  
  
Bc my name's not Steven. And I don’t kill people. Not even for sexy reasons.  
  
  
Also   
  
  
Wolverines not really up my alley  
  
  
wdym wolverine is ttly hot  
  
  
guess not every1s into 5 foot smth royalty  
  
  
[short king](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqIzIkJbvq8) mama ayyyyyyyyyyyy  
  
  
he could suck ur titty stndaing up  
  
  
Bruh.  
  
  
Gross  
  
  
Guess that's my cue to go to bed  
  
  
NO dont leave i got q's for u pls pls pls  
  
  
plsssssssssss?  
  
  
im sorry ill never put the mental imae of breastfeeding wolverine anwhywhere near ur delicate spider sensibilitys ever again  
  
  
i swerar on bea and arthur  
  
  
SPIDEy  
  
  
SPIDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY  
  
  
?  
  
  
ok  
  
  
so  
  
  
who is up your alley then 👀👀  
  
  
IDK  
  
  
Just not Wolverine?  
  
  
imma tell wolvie u think hes ugly  
  
  
he’ll be sooo mad  
  
  
i dont think hell ever get over it. he’d prolly even kebab my kidnyes a couple times and tell me he never fuckin asked   
  
  
🍢🍢🍢  
  
  
btw have u read any ohjer spidey fics? i read this kinda thing sometimes  
  
  
4 researc   
  
  
idk sometimes ppl write stuff about capn merica being a 12 yr old limbless fuck toy   
  
  
and i think they miht be supervillains that need 2 b tracked and mayb desist and deexist?  
  
  
....  
  
  
Please don’t kill people over fanfiction  
  
  
That’s the only one i’ve read so far.  
  
  
Why?  
  
  
i can rec u some other ones that are ok  
  
  
And where uarent named steven  
  
  
R u a rob or a kristof btw ?  
  
  


Deadpool's statement that he could "rec some other ones that are ok" meant that a fanfiction where Spider-Man was a mass murdering, biologically mandated bottom who was permanently mated to Wolverine and reproduced via egg laying was actually one of the more "okay" pieces of Spider-Man fanfiction. That gave him pause. Did he really want to go further down the rabbit hole? How much worse could the RPF get?

Wolverine/Spider-Man was a rare pair. All things considered, Wolverine actually wasn't that bad. At least he wasn't a supervillain. Did that mean fiction of even _worse_ Spider-Man couplings existed? In greater numbers?

He glanced down at the time on his laptop. It was too late for this. He should probably halt the investigation entirely. 

Also, Deadpool didn’t need any more hints as to his real name. Telling him it wasn’t Steven had probably already opened some floodgates that couldn’t be closed again.

Peter went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic will probably be uploaded in chunks. Like multiple chapters at once, as with my other single Spideypool work on here. I have a preference for writing things entirely or almost entirely before uploading because 1) I get discouraged easily by feedback or lack thereof so it's better to do everything before I chicken out, and 2) The work remains relatively uninfluenced by what others think and stays true to my original vision.
> 
> Unfortunately, I also want attention so I've uploaded this single chapter without writing most of the work first. Tragic.
> 
> I do not claim to be a good writer and if skewering tropes seems hypocritical then I'm sorry.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter was an idiot and couldn’t stay away.

He was _not_ bored. His life outside of school, work, and cavorting about in spandex was minimal out of necessity. Most of his days were jam packed and he typically fell straight into bed without any urge to indulge himself in hobbies. However, when he could spare a minute, it never seemed long enough before he found himself still awake at 2 AM reading fiction that he rationally considered garbage but somehow felt compelled to consume. 

Before looking at any of Deadpool’s recommendations, he had gone through XxMrsReynolds69420xX’s entire body of work. The subject matter was highly varied, although Wolverine banging Spider-Man and Spider-Man handling firearms seemed to feature in a good 70%~ of their oeuvre. _And when we die and float away (into the night, the Milky Way)_ was already a two year old piece, and the writer’s newest works were getting ever more frighteningly accurate in their Spider-Man characterization, aside from the murdering and _teehee fancasting tom holland in this one XD hes such a cutie patoot and also totes legal btw dont come after me i’m armed with internet knives. feel free to comment with ur fave Spidey fancast! enjoy ^_~_

Judging by the fanfare XxMrsReynolds69420xX received, _lots_ of people got off to the thought of him killing. The amount of serial killer Spider-Man kinksters was absolutely baffling. At first, he was revolted to his very core, that so many people didn’t like Spider-Man as he was. Then after ruminating for a while, he grudgingly acknowledged that a dark-sided Spider-Man being popular made just the _slightest_ bit of sense. Struggle porn and Fifty Shades of Grey had been in vogue for a while, after all. 

These people didn’t hate him as he was. They actually really, really loved Spider-Man, in their own twisted way. They liked him enough to spend hours upon hours of their time mulling over Spider-Man details and thinking up all sorts of fictional scenarios for him to live in. 

But most importantly, these stories were an outlet.

Sometimes, when he had slept particularly little or an enemy had really riled him up, he really had wanted to kill, like the Spider-Men in these fictional worlds. It would have been so easy to just punch a basketball-sized hole into Mysterio’s or Chameleon’s or Doc Ock’s side and put them six feet under for good. 

Whenever those thoughts started to appear, Uncle Ben’s death mask surfaced from his mind’s gloom, boring a hole straight through him with listless, lifeless eyes. Without fail, his desire to kill would be snuffed right out like a candle. 

He wouldn't murder. He would never. But on some level, it was gratifying to see the situation play out somewhere else, in a place where it couldn't, shouldn't be able to harm anyone. Maybe that was the reason he kept reading. It was cathartic, he told himself. It was not like he could tell anyone else about being Spider-Man without putting them in danger, but this particular anonymous author had tried harder than anyone he'd ever known to empathize with how he felt. They were using him as an object of sordid fantasy, sure, but the described build up of frustration, pain, and rage that led up to the fictional murdering was all too real. 

He did end up taking a look through more of the Spider-Man RPF section on the fanfiction-hosting site. Most of them were about him becoming romantically entangled with male crime fighters or even his own rogues gallery, which baffled him. If he were to write a fictional story in a similar vein, he’d be more interested in exploring the limits of certain mutations, or whether one hero could beat another in an even fight in a vacuum. If Iron Man vs. Captain America hadn’t caused such devastation in reality, it would’ve been a fascinating topic to explore. He had a lot of ideas about how the nanoscale architecture in the nacre of mussels could be incorporated into the Iron Man suit to mimic its current properties while keeping it biodegradable. Even though it was too general, the practical applications of nacre was a topic he was thinking about exploring in his graduate thesis. 

Instead, around three-fourths of Spider-Man RPF were about him taking it up the ass from Daredevil or sticking it up Johnny Storm. He didn’t get it. 

Of course, there was also tentacle rape with two certain villains. He did not want to think about it either. 

The most egregious things about all these fanfiction were that 1) They were nowhere close to sounding anything like himself or any of the people he knew in real life, and 2) They had a nebulous understanding of the reality of living with mutations or how exhausting and messy vigilante work could be. Deadpool had been right. XxMrsReynolds69420xX actually _was_ one of the more okay writers. The more Peter read, the more he was convinced that XxMrsReynolds69420xX was even one of the best Spider-Man RPF writers, if not the best. Even if their obsession with wanton violence was disturbing, the gore described did reflect large swathes of superhero work.

Thankfully, most of their other works did NOT involve Spider-Man laying eggs. Unfortunately, Peter had to be subjected to various scenarios he never considered, including but not limited to: Spider-Man fucking in outer space, Spider-Man navigating stifling social customs in an 1800's Regency setting, Spider-Man finding love in a world ravaged by the zombie apocalypse, Spider-Man authoring comics and running a flagship franchise into the ground, Spider-Man being a vengeful stripper who somehow only worked in full costume, among other subjects. It was definitely a ride. Somehow, he was still murdering people, albeit with blunderbusses and halberds, in historical settings where guns shouldn't have been as prevalent. 

Deadpool had sent Peter several more Spider-Man RPF recommendations since they talked, but all the ones he shared were clearly just pale imitations of XxMrsReynolds69420xX’s work, or had taken key cues and headcanons from their oeuvre. Apparently, XxMrsReynolds69420xX had started a massive trend of dark!Spidey in the fandom, but other fans had been more interested in applying the concept to stories with Johnny Storm and Daredevil. Deadpool did not recommend any Spider-Man stories with himself in them, which was surprising given his self-interested nature and flirtations that Peter was not sure if he was serious about. From Peter's research, it did not seem there were very many Spider-Man stories with Deadpool in them. Perhaps much of the public still thought Deadpool was just Spider-Man on a laundry day. Thanks, Daily Bugle.

Deadpool had also taken Peter's lack of attraction to Wolverine to heart and did not recommend any Wolverine/Spider-Man fanfiction either. He did not stop sending dark!Spidey fanfiction though. It was almost as if he was trying to convert Spider-Man to the idea of murdering, like he was a Jehovah’s Witness and fanfiction of Spider-Man dual-wielding Smith & Wesson 442s his pyramid scheme pamphlet. 

To be honest, all of Deadpool’s recommendations were kind of bad, and Peter often stopped reading them after the third sentence. He was busy, what with juggling his graduate program, crime fighting, bills, freelance job, and TA job. There was a lot on his plate. He did not have time to spend on fanfiction that called him Zachary and had him work at a coffee shop. If he really had to read, he would even prefer to spend his energy reading XxMrsReynolds69420xX’s only other A/B/O work where Wolverine was the omega this time. Spider-Man was an unusually svelte alpha who’d gone undercover as a beta to infiltrate an evil organization and had rigged up an incredibly intricate tripwire system to blow up the headquarters. The system described sounded similar to one Peter had encountered before, although he had to disable it in reality instead of setting it up. 

And if he did indeed read that specific A/B/O work, he just happened to skim the parts where Wolverine went into heat and Spider-Man had to abandon his plans to sexually attend to the man he realized was his one true love all along. And by skim, he meant skipped completely. 

Against all common sense, Peter made an account on the fanfiction site. It took a while, as he had to receive an invite, but he subscribed to Mrs. Reynolds and only Mrs. Reynolds. He kind of hated himself for it but the action was still less masochistic than following J. Jonah Jameson on social media out of obligation and liking the five paragraphs he posted on Facebook every day about Spider-Man being a disgusting wall-crawling menace. 

He didn’t even know when he’d stopped referring to Mrs. Reynolds by her full, gaudy, [Xanga](https://www.digitaltrends.com/social-media/rip-xanga-an-ode-to-the-angstiest-social-network-ever/)-esque username and had started just calling her Mrs. Reynolds in his head. And started thinking of her as a her.

Deadpool continued to pelt him with recommendations through text, even though Peter’s reaction to all of them had been noticeably lukewarm or outright disinterested.

Eventually, the subject of Spider-Man RPF came up during one of their hangouts.

They were sitting at the ledge of a giant billboard advertising storage rentals and littered with graffiti of boobs. An entire block in an industrial area of Ridgewood, Queens had been set on fire, and Spider-Man had swung in and out of brick warehouses to scoop civilians out of the disaster. Fifteen minutes in, Deadpool had come to join him, simply brute forcing his way inside without any concern for asphyxiation or burns. He had been bored and in the area, he claimed, which Spider-Man knew to be a complete lie. Ridgewood was one of the least exciting places in Queens possible, with no notable restaurants and only navigable almost exclusively through bus. The only landmark there worth caring about was a massive cemetery. No one, least of all a globe-trotting mercenary who could sunbathe in the Bahamas or live it up in Vegas whenever he wanted, went out of their way to go to Ridgewood. It was like a millionaire driving three hundred miles from his mansion just to relieve himself at a gas station toilet. 

They’d gotten Dunkin Donuts and found a nice view to accompany the stale pastry and decaf coffee feast. Deadpool waved his half-eaten Boston Kreme around as he spun tall tales about his most recent exploits in Oregon. Spider-Man entertained him, because it was entertaining to listen to. Not because he approved of the fact that Deadpool was very badly covering up his real, more lethal activities on the other side of the country.

He was still sending people to kingdom come, but at least he was trying to cut down on his tendencies. Spider-Man had certainly appreciated his help, as well as his near-instantly regenerating lung tissue, during the fire. People didn’t change a lifetime of terrible habits (murdering) overnight. True, permanent change was almost always gradual. Deadpool had to start somewhere.

After Deadpool had finished talking about how he’d been summoned by a Neolithic Age wizard who’d accidentally gone forward in time and required his help to go back, he promptly changed the subject. 

“So, did you read the stuff I sent you?” he asked, legs kicking into the midnight air. Both of them had finished their donuts and iced decafs. “Whaddya think?”

“Not interested,” said Spider-Man promptly. He was standing up, leaning against a particularly large spray-painted titty, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Aw, c’mon, Webs. Don’t tell me the Human Torch and Daredevil aren’t good enough for you either. They’re actually heartthrobs! Teen Choice Awards guys! Wolverine looks more like a [Tom of Finland](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_of_Finland) drawing interpreted through deviantART and then drop-kicked in the face with [Boterism](https://www.wikiart.org/en/fernando-botero). I get that.”

“I feel like Wolverine wouldn’t care enough about those references to be insulted. Anyway, it’s not that,” Spider-Man scoffed. “Although I'd rather eat a brick than date Johnny. The stuff you sent, they’re just terrible. Unrealistic. Way too sugar-coated.”

“Oh, are you not a Preston or Louie either? I have fanfic for eeeeevery possible Spidey name in the alphabet under my trench coat. All you have to do is ask. Meet me at the corner of the playground,” said Deadpool. He winked. 

“I’m not answering that.”

“Loosen up your sciencey little tushy. Get into it. It’s fantasy.” Deadpool nonchalantly turned his gaze away, looking up at the moon. “It’s good _because_ it’s weird. What’s life without a bit of weird? And willful misinterpretation of wolf pack dynamics to vent frustration with the real world mistreatment of marginalized classes?”

Spider-Man had no idea what he was talking about, as usual.

Deadpool rubbed his chin. “Y’know, the only fic you had more than a one word reaction to was that egg-laying one. The one you shared with me. And the paragraph you sent was pretty late in the fic, like around twenty nine chapters in. Or thirty? I forget. Did you actually read the whole thing?”

“Wh — what?” Spider-Man sputtered. “I did not — ”

The fabric at the edges of Deadpool’s mask pulled up. He was smirking. 

“Caught you red-handed,” he sing-songed.

“Okay, fine, fine, yeah, I did,” sighed Spider-Man. “The writing isn’t too bad. It’s not going to be winning any Pulitzers, but compared to some of the other stuff I’ve seen, it’s practically Hemingway.”

“I think it’s more [Julia Quinn](https://juliaquinn.com/), but with RPGs,” said Deadpool.

Spider-Man pretended that he didn’t not know who Julia Quinn was. In actuality, he didn’t even read that much Hemingway outside of school assignments. He was more into movies and TV shows. With regards to books, he’d always preferred non-fiction and the occasional science fiction. Even science fiction was flawed, as he often found himself frustrated with the inaccurate portrayals of concepts he considered fundamental. If the work was by Jules Verne or H.G. Wells, then of course they couldn’t help it, as they lived in a less scientifically developed time. But those in the twentieth century and on should know better, he thought. The authors were clearly writers first and scientists maybe fifth or sixth. He found TV less frustrating, as it was much easier to suspend disbelief when the images were beamed directly into his brain. 

“You don’t know who Julia Quinn is, do you?” said Deadpool, reading Spider-Man to the letter once again. He tapped the other man on the thigh with his knuckles. “It’s okay. Not everyone is a fine literature aficionado like _moi_. You can start small. Maybe read Twilight before moving up to the big guns. Like, you gotta start training with slingshots before firing a rocket launcher, y’know what I mean?”

“No, I don’t, because you shouldn’t be reading Twilight, _or_ firing rocket launchers at all,” Spider-Man said flatly. His burner phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he took it out to check for any new messages or local alerts.

Mrs. Reynolds had updated her newest fanfiction, _Panic At the Crisco_ , three hours ago but his burner phone's e-mail app was garbage so it had only received the notification just now. Every chapter so far had been around five thousand words so there’d probably be a lot of content to parse. He had story updates only sent to his burner e-mail on his burner phone because he felt so, so lame about reading what was essentially teenage girl porn starring himself. It was teenage girl porn, right? Mrs. Reynolds had mentioned her business trips, so she had to be a working adult, but she typed like a fourteen-year-old on AOL, [back when AOL was a thing](https://youtu.be/9_nbQszjBX4). 

Teenage girls generally didn’t have encyclopedia-like knowledge of weaponry that should’ve only been available to terrorist organizations and European police forces. Wolverine was also generally not considered a heartthrob by the One Direction and Justin Bieber-loving portion of the population. 

Was Mrs. Reynolds even a teenage girl? Was she actually around Peter’s age, maybe even older? Peter had not been fourteen when AOL was a thing. He had been younger than that.

Could she be a very bored Special Forces member constantly on deployment? Some member of a government agency? 

In any case, the Ridgewood fire had been enough Spider-Manning for one day. He deserved the rest of the night off to read sordid fiction about a better-looking version of himself.

“I have to jet,” Spider-Man said, putting his phone back. He turned back to Deadpool, his gaze earnest. “Thanks for the help today, ‘Pool. And the donuts.” 

Deadpool tilted his head to the side. “You're leaving earlier than usual. Lady friend stuff?” 

“Yeah,” said Spider-Man, feeling incredibly pathetic about the real reason. If Deadpool knew, he would never hear the end of it, so he lied. Hey, Deadpool did the same thing to him all the time. It was kind of fair. Anyway, Mrs. Reynolds did count as a lady friend, sort of, almost, very nebulously, right? In a creepily obsessed with him wantonly murdering innocents and fucking Wolverine kind of way?

Spider-Man made to move off the billboard ledge. “See ya around.”

“I’m going to be away for a month,” said Deadpool casually. “And then I’m going backpacking in Montana. Y’know, for the scenic man-eating dinosaurs. So you’re not gonna be seeing me around for a while.”

Spider-Man paused. He strongly suspected that Deadpool was not going away for leisure, and he would rather the other come back not having to lie in a bald attempt to keep the thinnest veneer of their friendship. But Deadpool was a grown man, older than him. Finger-wagging had generally been ineffective. He didn't really know why Deadpool wanted his approval so bad, but threatening, "It's me or the murdering" would make him sound like a jilted wife in a sitcom. 

Instead, he simply settled for a "I really wish you wouldn't," with his eyes narrowed in the other man's direction. 

"Oh, why is that?" Deadpool asked, still trying to sound like he didn't have a care in the world. "You miss me?"

At the same time, it was flagrantly ridiculous for Deadpool to think he was the one who had Spider-Man wrapped around his pinky. Begging him to do the right thing would be pathetic, not to mention ineffective as evidenced by dozens of Spider-Man's previous attempts. If he did it again, he really would be a wife fruitlessly pounding her fists at her husband's chest to get him to stop seeing the mistress. He was _not_ the wife. Or the butthole juice leaker. Wait, where did that come from?

"Not if you keep doing whatever it is you're going to be doing. Have fun,” said Spider-Man, his voice laced with just a tinge of bitterness. He jumped off the ledge as intended, leaving Deadpool yelling, “Don’t forget to stay chlamydia-free!” after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will probably not look good on mobile. I'm trying to figure it out, but it might remain that way forever.

Recently, Peter observed, Mrs. Reynolds’ usually gushy comments section had been invaded by a subset of trolls. 

He had noticed the absence of Deadpool in all of her works, even though by now Deadpool had been spotted with Spider-Man more than Wolverine. Deadpool and Spider-Man’s working relationship had been panned by the press, sure, but there should’ve been some allure, since Deadpool was a textbook bad boy. The yin to Spider-Man's yang. Opposites attracting. That sort of thing. Previously, poor good Christian Matt Murdock had been twisted by fans to fit into the sexy, rule-flouting asshole archetype because of his costume, but Deadpool had been appearing more and more in public as part of his efforts to revamp his image and win Spider-Man's approval. He was the new, shiny, and obvious shipping option on the block. Naturally, a contingent of Spideypool fans sprung up.

And they all hated Mrs. Reynolds with a passion. 

Apparently, Mrs. Reynolds had committed some sort of heinous crime against them off the fanfiction site. She was a notorious “Spideypool anti.”

Why was Peter even reading this drama? Why was he strangely fascinated? His schedule was crowded enough already, but he still chose to spend his precious free time rubbernecking vicious online fights over who had the right to pound fictional Spider-Man’s exaggeratedly thick behind. He had even cut down on time seeing MJ and Harry to read all the mudslinging. They were starting to get worried about him. MJ told him to take care of himself and to stop playing Fortnite. He would never play Fortnite.

He wished they thought highly enough of him to assume he had a love life, like Deadpool did.

It surprised Peter that Mrs. Reynolds even deigned to get embroiled in the verbal spats. Typically, she only replied to particularly long comments, as she received way too much response to answer them all. However, she did not hesitate to feed the trolls. She seemed to really hate Deadpool, even though he was a mutual acquaintance of both Wolverine and Spider-Man and should have naturally figured into any stories involving both of them. Mrs. Reynolds had even commented on the recent flood of hate with a very pointed ending notes section in her newest chapter.

### Notes:

> yall spideypool no lives need to get off my back lmao. im spreading the gospel of wolviespidey here, who tf wants to see Deadpool fuck Spiderman like ://// just accept that hes ugly and gross and probably has 2 cry himself 2 sleep while jerking it to Spiderman's feet pics bc Spiderman is waaay out of his league. he shouldn’t be shipped or written abt ever -_- haterz get ur eyes checked pls thx <3 don’t make me turn up comment moderation all up in this bitch cuz i will if u plebs continue to deny wolviespidey supremacy
> 
> also stan loona

Well, that actually hurt to read. Peter felt strangely defensive that someone with such sway in the Spider-Man RPF community despised Deadpool so much. He too deserved an opportunity to leak blueberry pie-scented juices out his ass in fiction. Peter would not mind reading such a thing if it existed. It was not fair that Deadpool could laugh at a million works about him being a sexy werewolf and eating Iron Man's butthole for money. He too wanted to have a wealth of embarrassing stories about Deadpool to read.

In fact, Mrs. Reynolds’ comment had really hurt. Deadpool wasn't that bad. He was funny, knowledgeable in the most surprising subjects, tall, and had a banging bod. He was much more attractive in costume than Spider-Man was, which confused Peter all the more as to why writers chose to zero in on him and not the other. Additionally, Deadpool had actively tried to change and was making great strides, which was more than could be said for many others Spider-Man had tried to dissuade from committing crime. Even though he’d suffered immensely, he was still strong enough to laugh about it. Spider-Man would never admit it to Deadpool, but he enjoyed hanging out with him, and it was a shame he was out of town so often. 

Deadpool also bought Spider-Man food, which did not influence how much he liked him whatsoever. 

Deadpool was definitely a fan of Mrs. Reynolds, and he would read that ending note. It would probably hurt him immensely to see a content producer he liked slandering him so fiercely. That would feel awful.

Peter found himself scrolling down to the empty comment box at the bottom of the newest chapter of _Panic at the Crisco_. 

  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  


Sometimes the best ideas just came to Deadpool out of nowhere, such as when he was bleeding up a storm from getting shot five times and hiding out in a Neapolitan countryside bunker to lose an army of mobster goons hot on his tail. 

That was what was happening now, and he suddenly got an awesome plot bunny for a Wolverine Gordon Ramsay AU. Did people even use the term plot bunny anymore? He still had to train himself not to refer to porn fic as [lemons](https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=lemon). 

The bunker was dark save for a single, slim shaft of natural sunlight from the entrance. He fished out his phone from his back pocket for both a source of light and entertainment. Somehow, the phone was still intact, with only minor cracks webbing out from the bottom right edge of the screen. Thank God, because he had probably lost about a [War and Peace](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/War_and_Peace)-length amount of writing over the years due to his phone getting wrecked in shoot-outs. It really wasn't his fault that he always got the most fucked up ideas while getting in fucked up situations and had to type out his masterpieces while squatting inside trenches or behind shot up pool tables. Sometimes he'd even written stories with knives sticking out of his head and blood gushing down his eyes. It was just like [trepanation](https://www.vice.com/en/article/exq9yk/meet-the-man-who-drilled-a-hole-in-his-own-skull-to-stay-high-forever)! Great for creativity. Anyway, if his marks just let him kill them and go back home and sleep, he probably wouldn't be half as prolific a writer. 

Deadpool wiped any traces of blood off the phone's screen with the back of his hand and opened QuickMemo to get on his bullshit.

“Jamie Logan Howlett had started out diluting vodka in the deepest infernos of Albertan speakeasies…” He didn’t know why he talked out loud as he typed. He just did. 

Unfortunately, tapping out words was difficult, as several major nerves in his arms were still reknitting themselves and the recovery affected his fine motor skills. With the smartphone keyboard already being so small, he naturally made about five dozen typos in the first three sentences. They all auto corrected into words he never intended to type, rendering everything he wrote completely unintelligible.

“God, fuck, shitsicles,” he said to himself. “The world needs to see this. I need to send it to Wolverine and give him more motivation to finally learn how to use a phone properly and block me. Then I can put ‘Wolverine X-Men Blocked Me!’ on all my social media profiles as a badge of honor, like people with zero Twitter followers do.” 

_Jammy longan howling hat sanitizer out dildo vodka in ten dildo in tea dildo indifferent of Algerian spastically_ , read the first sentence on his phone. Did he really use the word dildo that much for auto correct to put it thrice? But what other word was there for dildo that sounded just as funny? He couldn’t think of one at the moment. Not that it mattered, since his readers snapped up everything he put out, no matter how delirious he was from blood loss while writing or how little he consulted a thesaurus.

He actually especially loved the trolls who had stormed his comments as of late. The regular commenters said all sorts of bullshit, like _Wolverine/Spider-Man isn’t my cup of tea but this fic is really interesting! ^^_

Fuck you. Wolverine was hot and Spider-Man was hot. They should be everyone’s cup of tea. End of story. 

Also, he definitely did not use fellow Canadian immortal Wolverine as a more attractive proxy of himself to ship with Spider-Man in his writing, nope. He _could_ be out there specializing in Spider-Man/Human Torch fanfiction like everyone else, and he did occasionally indulge as it was a pairing that made his dick happy, but honestly? Nothing beat projecting yourself onto one side of your OTP. You didn't have to endure the cringe of seeing your hideous, unworthy self with the person of your dreams and be reminded of the impossibility of the situation ever happening in real life. Instead, you could imagine two attractive people banging, but with you hanging out like a fat [Animorphs Yeerk](https://animorphs.fandom.com/wiki/Yeerk) slug under Hugh Jackman's infinitely more aesthetically pleasing skull. Wolverine would also never read fanfiction in a million years to eviscerate Deadpool over assassinating his character, no matter how many times Deadpool sent him links. Everyone wins!

Anyway, the Spideypool trolls came in saying all sorts of stuff that warmed the cockles of his heart like _Kill yourself, you bully. Deadpool is hot_ and _lmao you’re delusional, spideypool is endgame, no wonder ur writing is shit_. People wouldn't go out of their way to enthusiastically praise him unless there was an attack to band them together. He was more than fine masterminding the attack himself. If only the Spideypool trolls knew he was getting off to these comments, stoking the flames with incendiary author replies so his ego could be engorged further and further. If only they knew Spider-Man had a girlfriend.

Was he pathetic? Never. It was completely normal to fish for compliments from strangers by posing as his own biggest hater. He wanted to hear _all_ the praise for his oft overlooked non-murder-y qualities. Additionally, the massive online validation he received from writing was his main source of serotonin these days, as he was surrounded in real life by hardened dude's dudes who thought saying "Deadpool, you're cool" every once in a while was the gayest thing they could imagine. The toxicity came naturally with the mercenary gig. So, the haters AND avid commenters unknowingly worked together to rocket his self-esteem to hitherto unknown new heights. He was a genius. This was the definition of self-care. Pepper Potts and [GOOP](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goop_\(company\)) could never.

The newest chapter of Deadpool's fanfiction had been posted half a day ago, back when he had been relaxing in his hotel room with a steaming towel wrapped around his head. Due to his popularity, he opted not to have e-mail notifications enabled for new comments and would only check them by refreshing the individual page for each chapter. If he did enable notifications for new comments, important e-mails such as _Re: Re: you owe me money shitstain_ and _Spring Co-ords Have Just Hit! Enchant With Our New[Mori Girl Items](https://j-fashion.fandom.com/wiki/Mori_Girl)! _would have been bogged down completely.

Now completely healed and safely ensconced in the dark of the bunker, he decided to check the comments of his most recently uploaded chapter for a new dose of positive brain juices. He scrolled aimlessly. There were comments about how great the new story developments were and how he didn't deserve hate, but there were also more incensed Spideypool fans than usual. He loved it. He wanted to feel the flames on the side of his face. All of them. They kept him warm and toasty all the way down to his toes. 

One particular comment stood out to him, however. 

backflip_frontflip on Chapter 5 Wed 14 April 20XX 02:02AM EST

  


> So I’ve been reading your work for a while. You’re an amazing writer, with a great eye for detail. Your work has more accuracy in regards to what superhero work entails than any other story I’ve read on this site. Even though I don’t read much, I always keep up with your stories. I hope you will continue to write. You’ve got a lot of talent.
> 
> However, what you wrote about Deadpool at the end of this chapter was quite frankly, untrue. I don’t know him personally but he’s out there every day trying his best. He’s saved a ton of people recently, even though the news isn’t reporting it well. It’s really shitty of you to judge someone just by your subjective opinion of how he looks. He’s funny, an amazing fighter, and looks just fine. I will continue to read your work, but you ought to change your opinion about Deadpool. I think he would be way more fun to hang out with than Wolverine. 
> 
> Spider-Man probably likes him way better than Wolverine too. And thinks he’s better looking. I know that for sure. I don’t know Spider-Man personally either, but somehow, I just know.




Aww. This comment was a double whammy of heartwarming. It both complimented his writing skills _and_ his personal character. Wow. It even said he was better looking than Wolverine! That Spider-Man probably thought he was better looking than Wolverine! The delusion. Absolutely adorable. 

He scrolled through the rest of the comments. Most likely, he would have to lay low in the bunker until night when it would be easier to sneak around undetected. The Wolverine Gordon Ramsay AU plot bunny ran away just as quickly as it’d hopped in, so he looked for another way to amuse himself until nightfall. He scrolled through his list of contacts to determine who to pester. 

He sent a crying cat picture he’d found accompanied by a _miss u daddy_ to Cable. No response. 

He sent a _check ur doorstep lol_ message to Weasel to keep him on his toes. No response. 

He sent a link to one of his more disturbing recent Wolverine RPF bookmarks to Wolverine. No response. 

He sent Spider-Man a message asking if his girlfriend knew that he read stories about himself sucking on other guys’ faces. 

_You need an off switch,_ Spider-Man responded after a moment.

Bingo.

🖤❤🖤🕷🖤❤🖤  
  


anrswe the q  
  
  
Look  
  
  
I have a life  
  
  
I’m not out here reading rando conjecture about who I may or may not be banging 24/7  
  
  
Honestly  
  
  
If you think about it, it’s pretty juvenile  
  
  
And creepy.  
  
  
is it bc i keep reccing u stuff where ur bottoming  
  
  
u feel emasculated  
  
  
tats on u  
  
  
not cool webs  
  
  
butt ill overlook ur bottomphobia this one  
  
  
pun intended  
  
  
i have lots of top spidey recs 2  
  
  
if u want  
  
  
they all say u have a hueg dog too  
  
  
dong  
  
  
bc of thow long a spiderg legs r  
  
so u got a spiderry fifth leg u feel me lel  
  
  
No.  
  
  
y  
  
  
itssss fuuuuun  
  
  
  
  
  
Bottoming isnt the main problem  
  
  
Like I said  
  
  
Most of the writing is just straight up bad.  
  
  
so the abo eggs wolvie 1 is the only fic u like?????  
  
  
spicy  
  
  
itzs not even tat gud tbh  
  
  
not the author’s best wrok  
  
  
Yeah I'm not really into how the author is as a person  
  
  
After some of the things they said  
  
  
wat things  
  
  
They really hate you for some reason  
  
  
eh im used 2 haterz  
  
  
means im popular 💅  
  
  
their stuff is still gud  
  
  
Yeah.  
  
  
It's a shame  
  
  
I prefer the characterization in their stories to all the other ones I’ve seen  
  
  
Which admittedly are few  
  
  
Its more believable  
  
  
bc it's.closer to thr truth?  
  
  
so u do have brown hair n brown eyes?  
  
  
cool beans  
  
  
that’s not what i said.  
  
  
omg omg  
  
  
u do  
  
  
r u an arachnoogist too??????  
  
  
  
  
  
Not cool for you to be fishing for my personal info  
  
  
Very unsubtly might I add  
  
  
When you dont tell me anything  
  
  
Like ever.  
  
  
Where are you anyway  
  
  
You never said where you were going for oyur trip  
  
  
The one before Montana  
  
  
omg  
  
  
u care abt me???  
  
  
thas so sweet  
  
  
🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺  
  
  
venice  
  
  
achieving my lifolong dream of becinmig a gondolier  
  
  
imb really good at it  
  
  
luigi syas i might actually be rpomoted soon  
  
  
and by thatt he means ill get a bgiger hat  
  
  
tht bigger the hat the closer to god  
  
  
and getting pope dick  
  
  
i look super cute in the boating hat btw i think i’ll add it permanentby to the deadpool Look  
  
  
makes my head hitbox look larger thagn it really is  
  
  
lol  
  
  
i said hitbox  
  
  
Coolio.  
  
  
And you’re killing stuff while you’re at it  
  
  
?  
  
  
  
  
  
🙄  
  
  
omgggggg  
  
  
ur bothered ddd  
  
  
ur even usbng an emoji  
  
  


Spider-Man stopped responding after that. He was probably having one of his little do-gooder fits again about Deadpool taking out the trash, which was disappointing, since he was one of Deadpool's favorite people to pester.

Deadpool went to his preferred fanfiction-hosting site and looked at the Spider-Man RPF section for updates. He refreshed so often that he had no need to subscribe to any stories, as he would always know when something he'd been keeping an eye on had updated. There was this one fanfiction he was really into recently that sounded like it had been written by a fourth grader but contained almost every single one of his kinks, so he kept up with each new chapter like a maniac. He unabashedly settled in, took off a bloody glove, and unzipped his pants. If the mobsters found him and shot his dick off, there were worse ways he'd gone out than dying while jerking off to Spider-Man selfcest.

He bet if he sent the story to Spider-Man, he'd probably be polite and actually read it. He was the only other person Deadpool knew in real life who had actually read crime fighter RPF and was receptive to it. And given how much of an open-minded softie he was, he could probably be convinced into becoming more involved in fandom. He was just too perfect to be true. Sigh.

At least he did now know that Spider-Man had brown hair and brown eyes, in addition to not being named Steven. Honestly, he'd only picked Steven as his headcanon Spider-Man name because both Cap and Dr. Strange were named some variation of it so the odds looked pretty good for Spidey. Whether he was an arachnologist seemed more up in the air. He was already a spider in his spare time, studying spiders in his day job would probably just be too much spider-ing.

Another known fact about Spider-Man was that he preferred Deadpool's writing to any other Spider-Man RPF. 

If so, then maybe....

He had an idea. But first, he had the sweet, sweet mental image of two Spider-Men 69ing to fap to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything from beginning to end is plotted out. Just gotta write it all... and the worst part... expand my HTML knowledge. Lmao.


	4. Chapter 4

After Mrs. Reynolds had slandered Deadpool, Peter lost much of the interest in her stories that he previously had. He received notifications of new work, but he didn’t check them as quickly as he used to. The single comment he had left on her work never received a response.

These days, he was actually starting to prefer marking up student lab reports to reading crime fighter-themed bodice rippers.

He was working on getting past the line “As per my last e-mail” one night in his Daily Bugle work communication when he received a notification. A quiet ding sounded, heralding the arrival of the third chapter of Mrs. Reynolds’ newest story. He hadn’t paid any attention at all to the past chapters, let alone the fact that it had ever been posted, and decided to click, because he needed something to stave his mind off the pent up passive aggression that might bleed through into his work e-mails. 

What he saw shocked him to his core.

Because, against all odds, Mrs. Reynolds had suddenly…

Become a Spideypool fan. 

And was writing Spideypool.

With Deadpool bottoming.

Now, Peter had actually skimmed through a significant amount of Spider-Man stories, and had surmised that the bottom was often the person the author most wanted to see wrecked in every way possible, the one who received the most florid descriptions of their sensuality and beauty. There were certain authors whose entire histories on the fanfiction site consisted of stories about sexually torturing The Human Torch, and Spider-Man had often taken the role of some faceless, generically evil rapist in those stories. Of course, Johnny could take care of himself, but it had kind of freaked Peter out how so many people had devoted immense amounts of their time to imagining Johnny being horrifically traumatized. It made sense, as being a notorious womanizer had to bite Johnny in the ass some time, but it was still a type of sexuality far different from what he knew. He was more used to cringing at “raw me Torchy”-type comments on the internet. 

If Mrs. Reynolds was writing about Deadpool bottoming, did that mean she now thought Deadpool was hot enough to be wrecked? Was he going to get the pert pink nipples and pretty flushed face treatment?

He voraciously read all three chapters that had been put out, as if he hadn’t been fed for months. The writing output was highly unusual for Mrs. Reynolds’ typical style.

First, Mrs. Reynolds had never,  _ ever  _ described Spider-Man as a paragon of masculinity. He was always described as twinky and svelte at best, which incensed him because he considered himself more jacked than 98% of the planet. Sure, he was more lithe than the average superhero, but a dump truck endomorph body type that showed through baggy civilian clothing wasn’t achievable by everyone. He was simply more streamlined for agility. Yes. He did not envy more heavily built people like Captain America or Deadpool whatsoever. 

At worst, he would get the sensual chocolaty orbs treatment. The pretty boy epithets. He tolerated all of this because he enjoyed the power Spider-Man had in these stories from always overcoming enemies, either by his own realistically depicted (in his opinion) wit and resilience or with the help of deftly wielded sawed-off shotguns. And he always got the girl. Boy. Canadian [Groundskeeper Willie](https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NBvHzGF_CSs/VE6g9vpsHZI/AAAAAAAAA3w/F7npKvzmbJs/w1200-h630-p-k-no-nu/Cover%2BPic.jpg).

The biggest objection he had was that he didn’t want to get rammed by Wolverine. He enjoyed reading about how Wolverine reacted to the ridiculous fictional situations he was dropped in, and Mrs. Reynolds elucidated on the simultaneous visceral horror and scientific marvel of the man’s mutation well enough to practically be an invasion of privacy, but overall, he still didn’t want to get rammed by Wolverine. 

Also, why, without fail, was there  _ always _ anal? It was like Mrs. Reynolds had an unsettling obsession with Spider-Man’s behind. The entire Spider-Man RPF section seemed to follow her lead, even employing the same metaphors and similes she’d used. If he saw the words pillowy or marshmallow one more time, he’d McFreaking Lose It. It made him feel self-conscious, made him wonder if his ass was really that huge. He considered buying some sort of body-shaping tights to wear under his suit, but all the ones that wouldn’t impede movement were way out of his financial means. He had no choice but to keep cavorting around the city with his apparently elephant-sized junk in the trunk.

The consistency of the chocolaty orbs, the Wolverine-fondling, and the anal in Mrs. Reynolds’ body of work made the newest story she put out all the more satisfying. The most satisfying and enjoyable work of hers to date, in Peter’s opinion. In  _[The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Spy_Who_Loved_Me_\(film\)) _ , Spider-Man was finally depicted with every word Peter would have preferred to see used to describe his alter ego. He was sexy, physically imposing, masculine, and cool. Deadpool was the one being described with flowery language, all sultry gazes and coy movements. Mrs. Reynolds had even increased her headcanon height for Peter by one inch. Now he was 5’9” instead of 5’8”. The average American height, no longer in firm bottom bitch territory. Progress!

Okay, maybe he was just a little bottomphobic. The teensiest. He had still tolerated consistently reading about himself as a bottom, after all, so he wasn’t fully bottomphobic. Being teased about his nerdiness and powerlessness in his younger years had just maybe,  _ maybe _ made him a little insecure. Deadpool was the very picture of jockish swagger and build in real life. His masculinity was assured. He could handle having it slandered.

All of this was combined with Mrs. Reynolds’ characterization specificity and usual knack for describing superheroic situations in a visceral, engaging manner to make  _ The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me _ Peter’s most preferred Spider-Man RPF work yet. It gave him the same tingly feeling he’d gotten when he first saw Spider-Man mentioned in a newspaper.

Peter was enthralled. He felt energized. He even erased “As per my last e-mail” and re-typed his phrasing to be more direct. Take that, Frank from Accounting. Garnish  _ these _ wages.

At the same time, a familiar feeling of shame bloomed in Peter’s chest. It was deeply pathetic to be so into seeing himself described flatteringly in a work. And also to enjoy so thoroughly having power over Deadpool somewhere, even in a fictional setting. Deadpool, who had dicked him once and once again in refusing to unalive and de-exist people, even when Spider-Man had tried every trick in the book to get him to stop. Well, except offering him his ass on a platter like some of the Spideypool fanfiction cropping up had suggested. He had already seen two variations of  _ Spider-Man makes Deadpool an offer he can’t refuse if he promises to give up his violent mercenary ways _ by now. Ugh. People couldn’t just be sucked and fucked into being good. Right? 

The author’s notes offered barely any explanation for Mrs. Reynolds’ sudden 180 on Deadpool. It simply said,  _ sorry friendos i finally saw the light. enjoy ^_~  _ and left it at that. He scrolled down to the comments section to see the reactions.

Compared to the praise that flooded every single chapter of Mrs. Reynolds’ previous works, the comments section for  _ The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me _ was downright tepid, only containing about six comments per chapter compared to the dozens that crowded the page in the past.

_ I usually prefer bottom Spidey but your writing is so good I dont mind. Eagerly awaiting the next chapter! _ read one comment.

_ thanks for sharing.never saw this iteration of spideypool before,where deadpool is sub lol _ , said another.

_ spoderman going to fucked? _ read yet another comment. 

None of the previous Spideypool trolls commented on this new work. They probably held a grudge from Mrs. Reynolds’ previous antics and were wary of her new motivations. 

Anyway, Mrs. Reynolds didn’t seem like the type of person to be deterred by a lack of validation. She was into doing her own thing, otherwise she wouldn’t be a one-woman Wolverine/Spider-Man army and would be writing Spider-Man/Human Torch high school AUs instead. 

That guy  
  


did u see taht new spidypool by the person who hates me  
  
  
Oh fr?  
  
  
I'll check it out later  
  
  
Kinda busy nowadays  
  
  
lol can u imagen  
  
  
us together  
  
  
im clearly 2 sexy4u  
  
  
u cant handle all thsi canuckistanian mooseknuckle  
  
  
Yeah it's still dumb  
  
  
but I can see it  
  
  
We do team up a lot  
  
  
compared to my other team ups.  
  
  
ooh la la monsieur homme araignée  
  
  
r u mayhaps  
  
  
intio the idea of you and lil ol me  
  
  
sitting in a tree  
  
  
kay aye ess ess aye en gee  
  
  
👁️👄👁️  
  
  
If I were an outsider  
  
  
It'd make more sense than some of the other stuff that's popular  
  
  
that so  
  
  
is spideypool purrhaps  
  
  
ur otp?  
  
  
  
  
  
What's an otp?  
  
  
one true pairing  
  
  
like ur fave ship  
  
  
teh one that makes ur [steamboat willie](https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Steamboat_Willie) go choo choo  
  
  
make ur mickye mouse whisltle  
  
  
👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀  
  
  
Idc  
  
  
I just read whichever stories are more accurately characterized and well-written.  
  
  
Wait  
  
  
Don't tell me  
  
  
You have an otp  
  
  
guess  
  
  
Is it Wolverine and me  
  
  
rip im 2 ez  
  
  
Ok.  
  
  
Disregarding the fact that being so invested in porn of your friends is gross  
  
  
Aaaand my complete lack of sexual interest in Wolverine  
  
  
Aaand the fact that saying “bub” every other sentence is a habit that is generally unattractive  
  
  
Why  
  
  
so ur ok with the cigar smoking but not bub?  
  
  
lelz  
  
  
ok  
  
  
its cuz ur both cute  
  
  
ur crute in a tomethy chalamet young gaspard ulliel way  
  
  
but with a superifhr bosterior  
  
  
bod*  
  
  
and wolverine in a pint sized, stabby hensworth brother with hirsutism kind of way  
  
  
oops wrong aussie  
  
  
i think about u and human torch too btw  
  
  
ur chemistry...  
  
  
its amazing  
  
  
like  
  
  
bug drawn to a flame  
  
  
so poetic  
  
  
n hawt  
  
  
Arachnid  
  
  
Not bug  
  
  
We've gone over this a million times.  
  
  
Cmon Pool.  
  
  
stfu nerd  
  
  
also i crae abt both u and wolverine so i read stuff 2 make srue nobody writing hese things is secretly planning to kidnap u two and froce u 2 eff againts ur wills  
  
  
nd create a supr wolvie spidey [egg baby](https://jojo.fandom.com/wiki/Clamp_in_Wonderland#Summary_2)  
  
  
that wolverine will lay btw, calm ur fragile masculinity tf down  
  
  
......................................................  
  
  
Why is it always eggs?  
  
  
Wolverines are mammals.  
  
  
ur boring  
  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  


After the job had been completed and he'd double checked that the funds had been completely wired to his account, Deadpool had indeed made his way to Montana, to the cabin of a past mark he'd offed. The cabin had belonged to a fracker or a politican or a rancher underpaying migrant workers. He didn’t remember. What was important was that the structure was located in a scenic area, where the pines were lush and fragrant and the birds were chirping. The weather was fantastic this time of the year, not too hot and not too cold, with soft, white sunlight that was just ready to bathe anyone who stood under it in several weeks' worth of vitamin D. 

Anyway, he had been lying on the dusty floor of the cabin for three days straight.

His face was lit half by the yellow glow of the fireplace and half by the blue light of his damaged phone, which had gained much more character (cracks) since the bunker. He was furiously tapping out paragraphs about Spider-Man's amazing delts, comfortingly protective embrace, and animalistic raw strength. Whenever he stood up to pee, he left a giant Deadpool-shaped dustless area, like an outline taped off for a crime scene. It was fun to then lie down in a different dusty area of the cabin and leave another Deadpool shape, turning the entire cabin floor into a [ruins of Pompeii-like](https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/plaster-citizens-of-pompeii) landscape of lying down Deadpools.

It would've been easier if he had a computer to type away on, but he didn't bring laptops with him on his trips, okay? They took up too much space when he could be bringing along five more modified sniper scopes and his second favorite Donna Summers album.

He could just  _ tell  _ that Spidey was super into his newest work, which made his creative juices flow all the more. And other juices too, wink wink nudge nudge. Spider-Man seemed way more into Spideypool than Wolverine/Spider-Man, which pleasantly surprised him. It excited him, even. Thrilled him beyond belief. Spider-Man was not, in fact, averse to being paired with him in fiction, so long as Spidey was the rugged, fly, and cool one and Deadpool swooned all over him. He had not mentioned once how disgusted he'd been to see people writing him with Deadpool in the same way he'd expressed dissatisfaction with Wolverine.

Was the competitiveness with Wolverine just a little bit weird when Wolverine didn't even remember he existed most days? No. Absolutely not. He was practically contractually obligated to obsess over Wolverine,  [although less so now that his cinematic franchise could join the rest of the Disney Marvel universe.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acquisition_of_21st_Century_Fox_by_Disney)

Anyway, painting Spider-Man as Jesus, Mary, and Joseph was incredibly easy to do, because Spider-Man deserved it. He was  _ that _ guy, and Deadpool would shower Spider-Man with all the praise his little arachnid heart ever desired, even if Deadpool suspected that Spider-Man might actually only be 5’7”. He had written Spider-Man as 5’8” before to be flattering and now 5’9” to really suck up to him, since poor Spidey could use the uplifting about being vertically challenged. He was probably self-conscious enough about it already. 

Honestly, Deadpool didn’t mind Spider-Man being short. In fact, it made him all the more sexy, how dangerous he was in such a small and lithe package. Everyone shorter than Deadpool looked the same height to him anyway. They simply existed in their own Short People Plane.

And if Deadpool had to see writing about himself, it was best for him to set the standard for his own characterization. He actually despised Spideypool for another reason, outside of his previously thinking it was impossible: seeing himself portrayed in fiction at all was simply repugnant. Perceiving himself as an entity that existed was repugnant. Perceiving himself as an entity worthy of love, interest, and worship to the point of having stories written about him with the person he liked was absolutely unthinkable. 

It was deeply hypocritical, since he messed with people he knew in his own creations all he liked, but so what? He was human. He was allowed to have his own Special K brand of neuroses. His neuroses were practically Raisin Bran from how nasty they were. He looked like Raisin Bran too.

But perhaps he was worthy. Maybe he could just let go, stop tugging at fictional Wolverine’s hair like Remy Ratatouille. Be a main character, the hero Spider-Man thought he was. He didn’t really care if his commenters weren’t into his new work. All that mattered was that Spider-Man saw it and approved. 

Honestly, it was seriously messed up in the first place that Spider-Man had read all thirty two chapters of a fanfiction about himself shooting people up, having a chronically leaking bussy, having sex with Wolverine, and laying eggs. Not only that, he admitted to it, and admitted to reading others like it for comparison. He had even known of Mrs. Reynolds’ anti-Spideypool tirades. There was no way he wouldn’t keep up with the newest work which finally painted him in every single light he complained about newspapers never portraying him in. And was also, incidentally, going to feature several chapters of him confessing eternal love to Deadpool and then pounding Deadpool into the pavement.

The entire story was practically a love letter to Spider-Man.

He could definitely be converted into Deadpool’s kind of kinkster. Deadpool had no idea what the exact appeal in his stories were to the other man, but knowing Spider-Man in real life enough to imitate his dialogue and affect his mannerisms in fiction had somehow drawn him into Deadpool’s very own web. 

As Kirby from Street Fighter said, wahoo!


	5. Chapter 5

It had now been over a month since Deadpool and Spider-Man’s Ridgewood meeting. _The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me_ continued to update at Mrs. Reynolds’ typical lightning pace, now reaching eighteen chapters and showing no indication of an ending in sight. The updates were churned out with such rapid fire speed that Peter sometimes couldn’t even read them until a week after they were initially uploaded, given that he was currently swamped with work. Spider-Manning was also becoming difficult, and the exhaustion had caused him to get his ass whupped more than once. Attending labs with bruised ribs was not ideal, especially when hazardous chemicals were involved and he was walking around with a slight limp, bumping into things left and right.

Recently, he had to down ten 5 Hour Energy bottles just to get through his packed schedule. Not only was it expensive, but he dropped onto his mattress like a fly the moment he got back to his apartment, was dead to the world for fifteen hours, and slept past his alarm completely the next day.

He had fucked up so, so bad, taking on this much work.

If he threw away the Daily Bugle gig, he couldn’t pay rent. If he threw away TAing, he would also not be able to pay rent, or be on track to finish his degree early. If he threw away school, his graduate scholarship would be rescinded and he wouldn’t be able to TA or have a campus ID that allowed him to freely work on Spider-Man things in a state-of-the-art-lab.

If he threw away Spider-Manning, he wouldn’t have an outlet that made everything else just barely tolerable.

He'd be screwed no matter which item he removed from his weekly schedule. Every Jenga block he could possibly pull out would cause the entire tower to fall apart.

“Just shoot me,” he moaned into his pillow. It was 9:47 PM. He was lying face down on his mattress, knees folded under him, still in the outfit he’d worn outside earlier. It was the second outfit in his regular rotation of four full outfits. There was a possibility that it had not been washed in two weeks, because he didn’t have the time or energy to drag a bag of laundry down two blocks, even if he was Spider-Man and that laundry bag would feel like absolutely nothing.

Ding!

His burner phone beeped with a notification. Face still buried in the pillow, he extended his right hand, groping around the floor for the phone. He knocked over what was probably the lotion and the water bottle next to his mattress before he felt a thin, oblong object and grabbed it off the floor. He blearily turned his head to examine the new e-mail. Please don’t be a news alert, please don’t be a news alert…

**[AO3] XxMrsReynolds69420xX posted Chapter 19 of The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me**

_Okay_ , he thought. _Let’s see what fictional, hypercompetent me would be doing if he were a Black Widow-esque secret agent._

Throughout the recent updates, the author’s notes had once again become a section filled with enthusiastic rambling. Sometimes Peter asked himself why he read the notes, given his own limited time and what a headache they were to parse, but he was becoming more and more desperate to know about the person behind the fiction as Deadpool in the story became increasingly fleshed out in each new chapter.

As he read the update from his highly unergonomic position on his mattress, his suspicions only increased.

### Notes:

> heyyyy its meeee back again with another update for u cutiessss <3 the lemons still not in this chp yet soz but itll be soon!1 im excited 2 write abt Deadpool’s succulent unmarred skin and model hottie face. its my theory that him being a mega uggo is a pr scam and theres a sex god under that mottled skinsuit or image inducer or w/e it is taht would make helen of troy’s [rule 63](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rule_63) pirouette off a cliff out of feelings of inferiority. like if u have magical perma regen powers how does it make sense ur skin doesnt look like flawless marble perfection amirite? ill have an essay link in my next chp if u guys want proof. mayb Deadpool’s even *gasp* secretly as smexy as my hubby ryan. did u kno theyre the same height????!!1 omg *swoons* no touchies tho ryans mine and mine alone XP *glomps* *licks his abs*
> 
> updates mite not be as fast as b4 bc im traveling rn. having the time of my life btw ^_~ onto teh ficcy!

Then the chapter opened with a two paragraph description of Deadpool’s alluring pectorals. In-story, Deadpool called them his thoracic badonkadonks, which sounded disturbingly like something Deadpool himself had said before in a conversation with Spider-Man. The few existing stories about Deadpool by other writers usually focused on his shoulders and clavicle area because of the sexy choker-like black ring of leather on his suit, but Spider-Man knew Deadpool was particularly proud of his own pectorals. They'd even had a conversation about this before, when the subject had somehow turned to body insecurities. He was an ass man, Deadpool said, because he already had all the titty he needed.

An ass man.

Who was traveling right now, claiming to be backpacking in Montana, and probably having the time of his life.

Peter squinted at his phone screen. It was too bright.

Honestly, Deadpool seemed semi-illiterate from the way he texted, so Peter had assumed Deadpool either didn’t write or had written one of the really terrible stories that Peter probably didn’t even bother to open up from various grammar mistakes in the summary. But reading Mrs. Reynolds’ notes, the style of talking seemed… very similar, save for the emotes.

This is why dismissing people based on their apparent command of the English language was a bad thing to do, aside from being inherently xenophobic. He would make a concerted effort from now on to frown less at seeing “macromolacular” and “substrate promicuity” in undergrad students’ lab reports.

Mrs. Reynolds’ obsession with violence and encyclopedia-like knowledge of weaponry would also make sense, if Peter’s theory was true.

Other than Peter’s growing suspicions coloring his opinion of the work, _The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me_ was quite tame. This alternate universe scenario was particularly pedestrian by Mrs. Reynolds’ standards, and the weirdest thing that happened so far was the foreshadowing that Spider-Man might be the Anti-Christ.

Peter almost wished he could be the Anti-Christ right now. Setting his entire life on fire would be nice. He wouldn’t smite Green Goblin, but he might kind of just… not let him exist too much? So he couldn’t cause wanton destruction and strike Spider-Man with a bomb that sent him careening into a building and banged up his side real bad, causing his entire abdomen to be mottled with purple and green bruises that hurt to touch even a day later, as well as rendering him half as efficient in his incredibly taxing daily life?

Fuck it. He hoped Anti-Christ Spider-Man was not only the actual direction the story was going in but also that he would fuck shit up. All the shit up. Actually destroy the entire world except for his friends and some other people he knew. Maybe even torture the Green Goblin a little before smiting him. Like beat his ribs in and gouge his eyes out and squeeze the gouged eyeballs into dripping, milky white viscera and cut the tendons in his feet so he could never get on his stupid little air Segway again.

And then afterwards, Spider-Man would revive him, but without the Green Goblin powers and identity, because he was still Harry's dad, who was severely mentally ill and deserved sympathy, and murdering him so viciously would destroy the life of someone he cared about, someone who had offered to talk to Pfizer and Merck and even corporate rival Stark Industries for him, someone who had always smiled and said thanks when he'd been served steamed broccoli by Aunt May when he was used to dining at Nobu, who...

Ben's frozen expression in death gazed out at him, eyes perpetually open and unblinking.

This was insufferable. Peter hated that he thought so much, that his mind went in circles from empathy to pure rage to guilt and then back to empathy elicited by guilt and then the entire cycle would start again. The newest chapter of Mrs. Reynolds' story was right up his alley. It was chock full of wanton violence happening to fake people whose welfare Peter didn't actively have to care about.

Maybe it was slightly concerning how inured he'd become to the thought of Spider-Man murdering, even if only in fiction. Or perhaps it was the same old guilt talking again.

He was starting to wish he could be the same asshole in real life. He shouldn't have to feel like he was getting shoved onto the floor and his bookbag was being thrown in the trash even while being Spider-Man.

Maybe the propensity for violence was in him all along. Maybe this was who he really was, and if he traitorously stopped thinking about family and friends at all, the family and friends he couldn’t even talk about Spider-Man to, then he could just go ham and tear every dirtbag in the city apart.

If Mrs. Reynolds really was Deadpool, it would explain a lot of things. Spider-Man couldn't get Deadpool to change, but Deadpool was turning everything he'd ever known about himself upside down and inside out without even being aware of it.

Resentment towards Deadpool mounted in his chest. Everyone got to play around with and dictate his life. Everyone but himself, the single person who should most firmly be in the driver's seat.

If Deadpool were really Mrs. Reynolds, then why had he been so against the prospect of Spideypool but suddenly changed his mind? It was weird. Spider-Man was probably some gross joke to him, and then he’d decided to mess around even further after Peter had told him he didn’t mind the pairing that much. He was that type of guy, the kind to constantly dangle the prospect of turning over a new leaf and being a possible ally and even friend in front of Spider-Man’s gullible nose. It incensed Peter all the more.

If Mrs. Reynolds really was Deadpool, then he deserved a taste of his own medicine.

Suddenly, against the deafening silence of the apartment, Peter heard footsteps approaching his door. By the light cadence and volume, the steps sounded like they belonged to an older woman, wearing some sort of padded, clog-like shoe. She knocked.

“Peter?”

He bolted to his apartment entrance and immediately unlocked the door. Then he latched onto Aunt May like a Lego onto another Lego, not caring how unkempt he may have looked. Or smelled.

“Ease up, please, there’s food,” she said warmly. He let go to allow her to place the bags onto the floor, then she returned his embrace. After several seconds, she let go, and he hauled the bags she had brought inside his apartment.

“Your place… It’s very… college!” she commented, her expression controlled.

“You can say it,” Peter said. He huffed a laugh.

All the breath she had been holding was let out in one exhale. “It’s an absolute pigsty. A travesty. And here I thought you were so busy because you might’ve had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Clearly, no one’s been visiting.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Oh, I’ve known for a while,” May said matter-of-factly. “Whenever you used the computer at home, why, the history always had at least twenty different searches for Captain America’s abs and, erm, codpiece at a time. It was _quite_ obvious.”

“Those were for my job!” protested Peter. Since when did May know how to analyze the browser history function? Now he would have to browse in incognito mode whenever he was back at his childhood home. Forever. “I need to make Spider-Man look similar for the Bugle. You know how the standards for heroes are. Gotta appear buff and tough.”

“I’m sure Spider-Man is in dire need of the cod-piece enlargement, dear,” said May patiently. Peter nearly gave an indignant reply, but remembered she wasn’t supposed to know, and held himself back. She moved to open his refrigerator door to put the food bags inside. “I do hope you have been…”

She paused.

The refrigerator door swiveled open to reveal a single giant tub of mayonnaise, a carton of milk nearing expiration, an opened can of flat Coca-Cola, and about twenty danishes he’d stolen from the Dungeons and Dragons group meeting at the campus lounge a day ago. There was always someone more loaded and generous who’d bring the Dunkin Donuts Munchkins and what not to these meetings, which Peter would take full advantage of.

“Well,” she said.

 _[Damn bitch, you live like this](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/damn-bitch-you-live-like-this)?_ rang throughout Peter’s head. The phrase came from an image macro Johnny had sent him some months ago in response to his mentioning that he was trying out a British recipe for a sandwich that had a single toasted bread slice as the filling. May would never say anything as untowards as the phrase in the macro, but he still suddenly felt very ashamed, both of the current shambles his life was in and of his earlier bubbling resentment towards all his friends and family.

May would probably also be unsettled by the idea of a toast sandwich, but she didn’t need to know about that aspect of his lifestyle.

“Thank you,” Peter said earnestly. “For coming. It’s late. And I know Astoria’s kind of out of the way.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said May. “All the trains are quite fast this late at night, as you know. My shift is changing to early morning, so we finally have a bit of intersection in our schedules now! And I keep forgetting you’re gone, and make these massive portions that I can’t eat, so you might as well have some. If you have the time, do drop by. I have so much more I could offload on someone with a young man’s metabolism.”

She continued to stack the boxes she’d brought into his pathetically threadbare fridge. The aluminum containers smelled vaguely of tomato sauce, spinach, and fatty cheeses. Like actual food that had been made with individual ingredients instead of purchased all at once as a frozen meal or a dehydrated ramen packet.

Peter scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ll visit one of these days, I promise. It’s just really busy. Almost end of semester, y’know?”

“I know,” May said soothingly. She shut the refrigerator door. Then out of nowhere, she exclaimed, “Magsumikap ka! Hwaiting! Jia you!”

“...What?”

“Oh, these are just some new phrases I learned from my co-workers,” said May. “They just mean ‘Work hard’ or ‘hang in there.’ Some of it probably comes out as complete gibberish when I try to say it, but you get the idea, don’t you? Annie always laughs at me whenever I try to say our Chinese patients’ names. It’s embarrassing, but I have to keep up with the times. I’m never going to get the tones right, but I can at least say Zhou now! Did you know it’s pronounced like ‘Joe’? Like average Joe?”

“Uh, no,” said Peter. He did not remember who Annie was. Probably another RN. “I wouldn’t know, honestly. So it’s all good.”

“Why, if only everyone had a wonderful audience like you,” said May. Then she swiveled, heading towards the apartment entrance. “Well, I have places to be, and I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Peter followed her to the door, where they exchanged hugs one last time. She stood up on her tippy toes and kissed him wetly on the cheek, leaving a faint smell of bergamot.

“Take care of yourself,” she said, patting him on the back. “And try not to get addicted to video games. Mary Jane told me.”

Great. Now even May thought he played Fortnite.

“I won’t,” he said, fully resigned to his gaming taste being slandered. “Good night, May.”

“Good night, dearest,” she said. He watched her slowly make her way out into the dimly lit corridor, and then to the elevator at the end of the hall. As she made her way inside, he felt himself still waving, and her waving back, her tiny hand a beacon at the end of the tunnel. When the elevator door closed, finally taking her out of view, his hand stilled. Then he went back inside his apartment and shut the door.

God, he didn’t know how much he needed that. He had been festering alone in a pile of his own resentment and rage, and for what? His family still loved him. His friends still liked him. They worried over him. They talked about him to each other, wondering if he had eaten, if he was tired, if he was okay.

They didn’t care if he was a mess. He was still Peter, after everything. Someone worth loving. Someone they’d venture thirty minutes out of the way of their workplace for, just to see if he was eating properly.

He returned to lying on his mattress, although this time without his knees tucked under him and in the far more ergonomic position of lying on his back. With Aunt May’s visit, he felt a bit less tired. All that was left in the air was Deadpool, and Peter was still going to make him pay, but in a different way.

He had an idea.

* * *

* * *

As much as Deadpool would have liked to be back in New York City to mingle in the biggest hub for costumed freaks in the continent, a last minute job popped up that he had to take care of.

If he hadn’t received the message, he’d probably be back in one of John F. Kennedy Airport’s hellhole terminals by now. One with $15 Kraft grilled cheeses on Wonderbread, incredibly angry TSA agents, and a Starbucks that never had any sandwiches available.

The author’s note he had left on his latest chapter reflected his anticipated absence, but he found himself tapping away at his phone yet again in a lull.

“No one’s accused me of plagiarizing [Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_Omens) yet,” he said to himself while lying on his stomach on top of a drab grey concrete building in Seattle. The broken headphones he had on that only played music on one ear was blaring Robyn, and the barrel of the Barrett M95 he’d brought five customized scopes for lay carelessly nestled in the crook of his right elbow, having been waiting for blood for the past two hours. If he was going to have to take his sweet time waiting for some geeky cryptocurrency market manipulator to show signs of life by the window, then he might as well pen some paragraphs about Spider-Man’s cute — ahem, powerful glutes while he was at it.

The Anti-Christ storyline was a topic he’d broached only once before in his entire history of work, but he didn’t like to be predictable. He was thinking about what to do with his own character, the [Proactiv](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proactiv) commercial model Deadpool, who he had decided by now was a sexy demon-angel hybrid on the run from both of his parent races due to millennia-old animosity between heaven and hell. Due to his hybrid nature, he was basically a Madonna-whore character. He was a virgin but also would fuck Spidey’s brains out in the very last five chapters of the fanfiction. Ooh, maybe he could even be the Whore of Babylon, just to throw in more warped Biblical references from someone who had never attended Sunday school in his life! He could hardly wait to write that part.

Until then, he had to detail all the ways in which Anti-Christ Spider-Man smote his opponents and brought hell unto the planet. To be quite honest, he very much enjoyed writing Spider-Man’s trail of havoc. Just as much as the overtly horny parts, actually. It was a horny part to him, and that's what mattered. The plotline didn’t contain as much firearms-induced violence as he would’ve preferred, but the several paragraphs he’d hashed out so far about how human flesh smelled when it was charred to bits were pretty cool. Yeah, it really did smell like super metallic bacon. His eighteen-year-old girl reader demographic would love that shit.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a movement at his target’s window.

He quickly left his phone on the floor and peered into the scope of his Barrett M95, finger at the trigger and barrel jutting into his shoulder. _[Don’t waste this love, I wanna give it to you](https://youtu.be/z4n6ymEMQmk) _was blaring in his right ear at a high enough volume to render that aural channel nigh unusable. His target was drawing open the curtains, completely unaware that his life was going to end approximately one second after the sunlight hit his [Comic Book Guy from Simpsons](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/79/The_Simpsons-Jeff_Albertson.png/220px-The_Simpsons-Jeff_Albertson.png)-looking face.

The bullpup rifle sounded like a gong, ejecting a bullet that went straight through the glass and hit Deadpool’s target square in the forehead. The man at the window fell. His blood and brain bits covered the clear pane completely in red.

Deadpool whistled, took off his headphones, and then stretched. He had to leave before his location was sussed out, but the job had been super easy. Now he could go back to New York City, harass Spider-Man to see if he’d been into the Anti-Christ plotline, and beg for his attention again.

As he leisurely made his way down the emergency staircase connected to the roof, he decided to check the fanfiction site’s Spider-Man RPF section once more. It had been about three hours since he last refreshed it.

There was a new story with him in it. Hopefully, it was inspired by _The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me_. He readily despised all depictions of himself not adhering to the new headcanon of Handsome Witty Megaslut Deadpool he’d tried to persuade the rest of superhero RPF fandom to get into. Most of the fanfiction about himself he’d read were absolute fails. They either portrayed him as a cardboard cutout of pure, bland evil, or if they tried beyond that, failed to capture the full breadth of his wit. Yes, he did laugh at toilet humor. On occasion. On many occasions. On most occasions. On 99% of occasions. He was also obligated to chortle whenever he saw the weed or sex numbers. Still, those weren’t his full comedy repertoire, and it offended him that his fellow authors thought they were.

He casually strolled out onto a sidewalk, massive duffel bag containing his weapons in tow. The target’s body probably wouldn’t be found and his client notified unless he phoned the cops from a fake number, but he could do that later. South Lake Union, Seattle had a plethora of brightly painted food trucks for him to sample. Right now, he was really feeling like BBQ. Mmm, metallic bacon.

The new Deadpool fanfiction that had appeared was categorized under Spideypool, which immediately piqued his interest. The excitement he had while tapping on it soon fizzled out, however.

The story was terrifically, horrifyingly boring.

There was nothing wrong with the grammar or spelling, but the syntax was repetitive, and each sentence terribly long. The writing style almost reminded Deadpool of the research journals he’d tried to read once or twice to make sure that the details in his stories were accurate (he’d given up quickly and started to make everything up from then on). If the fanfiction had not featured himself, he would have exited out of the window within the first three sentences. It didn’t even have any rare fetishes he was into that’d motivate him to keep reading. If there were vampire mermaids, he’d read the shit out of it, even if it’d been secretly written by Bruce Banner as an unenthusiastic thought experiment.

Instead, the story was about him being a boring, no-fun-allowed good guy. Giving up killing, being thanked by old ladies he helped across the street, and rescuing cats from trees without any recompense whatsoever. What the fuck. Everything about what he just read was completely depraved. Just sick. Utterly messed up. Who even fantasized about that type of thing, let alone wanted to see Deadpool doing it? This person had to be a psychopath or the kind of weirdo who legitimately believed [Heritage Minutes](https://www.historicacanada.ca/heritageminutes) to be the very height of public television.

Spider-Man also featured in the story, but the sexual tension was practically non-existent. He only served to praise Deadpool’s turnabout character and occasionally remark on how handsome Deadpool was. However, there were indeed some [yo mama jokes](https://i.imgur.com/aLpSvL2.jpeg) and repartee in there that sounded like Deadpool’s type of humor, which edged the story out slightly over some of the other fanfiction featuring himself he’d read.

The story sat sadly on the page with its whopping single kudo. Unsurprisingly, no one was into it.

The author was named [backflip_frontflip.](https://twitter.com/heymrstark/status/892804162592878594/photo/2)

Somehow, the name sounded vaguely familiar.

He reread the story several times, becoming more and more incensed at the details he found. No one in the public sphere knew he liked Golden Girls, yet the story abounded with references to his katanas being named Bea and Arthur. In the previous Deadpool-focused fanfiction he’d read, they weren’t even his babies. Or katanas. Some stories legitimately thought he wielded twin claymores or cutlasses. He actually liked the cutlass idea, because it made him sound like a pirate. Many of his enemies just assumed he was a raging weeaboo, which was true, but also far more uncool.

The person who wrote this story, as much as it sucked, knew him quite well. It sent his paranoia into overdrive. He had to investigate, and simply texting and waiting around wouldn't do. Answers were required right here and now.

He scanned his immediate surroundings to check if anyone was after him. Once he felt sure he wasn't being followed, he went to stand in the alleyway of a Starbucks and exited out of the browser window on his damaged phone. When he dialed, Weasel picked up on the fourth ring. He had no life but was probably trying to appear like he did by waiting a couple of seconds before answering.

“Hey, did you see that new story about me rescuing cats?” asked Deadpool.

“In the papers? Man, imagine getting paid to write about that. It’s practically the superhero equivalent of penning those _Absolutely Amazing Hemorrhoid Creams You Have To Try Right Now_ articles at BuzzFeed.”

“No, in the Spider-Man fictional porn portal, you dickbutt! Someone wrote creepy shit about me. Like, shit nobody other than people after me or people who know me would know.”

“Wow. The person writing creepy shit gets creepy shit written about them. Who would’ve thought. Sounds like karmic justice to me.”

“Lay it on me straight, Weasel. Fully heterosexual, slick [Clark Gable](https://www.classicmoviefavorites.com/clark-gable-man/)-style. Did you do it?”

“Why on God’s green earth would I get off to writing about you? Rescuing _cats_? I get enough of a kick as is hearing about you getting blown to smithereens every other day. I don’t need to fantasize.”

“Fuck you,” said Deadpool. Then he hung up.

He dialed Domino. “Hey. Your cutest friend speaking. Did you maaaybe publish a weird story online about me saving little old ladies?”

“We're not friends. Lay off the coke” was the singular reply he received. The line immediately went dead.

Deadpool tapped his chin thinking of other DP Associates who 1) used the internet regularly and 2) might have an investment in publishing seemingly banal but troll-y, low-level threatening stories about him online. He struggled to come up with any new possibilities. No one he knew gave enough of a shit. It came with the territory of being an ugly, unkillable loser, as well as being a swirling whirlpool of mayhem who sucked in every normal person that got near enough to care and destroyed them.

Would Wolverine do it? Nah, he was fandom-illiterate. Would Al do it? R-O-F-L-copter. Would Cable do it? The mental image of Cable intensely hunched over a computer and clacking away at a Word document titled _Wade Becomes Less of An Asshole_.docx made Deadpool want to shit himself laughing. Would Spider-Man do it? Nah. Even if he read fanfiction, he was a mega-normie who was always juggling mega-normie bullshit like climbing the corporate ladder, hanging out with non-murderous pals, and banging girlfriends. Also, Spider-Man could actually be pretty funny, when he wasn’t busy being an unusually hot finger wagger, like Pamela Anderson's [lifeguard character](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/C._J._Parker) in Baywatch but with the notable assets located on the opposite end. There was no way he would write in such a drab, academic style.

He was just too sexy for that.


	6. Chapter 6

For the first time in a month and a half, Spider-Man saw Deadpool. It was at a congestion on the Long Island Expressway, where a driver had gotten stuck inside their own upside-down car during peak hours and caused a traffic build-up extending outwards of twenty miles. Spider-Man had arrived on the scene, lifted the car, and gently placed it in an upright position on the grass adjacent to the highway for the driver to safely disembark from. Other vehicles resumed their normal dizzying speed once the obstruction had been removed. Before he had the chance to thwip off, however, he saw Deadpool leap over a fence overlooking the grassy area and approach.

“Hey, DP,” said Spider-Man casually, walking to where Deadpool had landed. “Long time no see. Nice tan, by the way. Can’t see it, but I’m sure it sets off the red in your suit.”

Deadpool held his arms out. “Spidey! What’s a sexpot like you doing in a shithole like this?”

Spider-Man ignored his proffered hug, but did grab his hand in a pound shake. “Flushing’s alright. It has the [Hall of Science, a zoo, and a carousel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flushing_Meadows%E2%80%93Corona_Park), and one dollar [chicken skewers](https://www.yelp.com/biz/xinjiang-bbq-cart-flushing), which is more than I can say for most of Manhattan.” 

“Alrighty, Queens Defense Squad,” said Deadpool. “You’ll have to take me on an exclusive tour sometime so I can be convinced. Thoroughly. If there actually is a carousel, I call dibs on the elephant. There better be an elephant. Ooh! Is the carousel open right now? We can totes go! I so wanna re-enact my Mary Poppins fantasy.”

Spider-Man took out his phone and looked something up. “It closes at 8 PM. It’s 6:30 right now.”

Deadpool stared at him. The fabric at the sides of his cheeks were pulled up, denoting a massive shit-eating grin on his face.

Spider-Man felt his heart sink.

“Aren’t you… you know… too old to ride on a carousel?” he asked, knowing the answer. “Like, you have to be this old to ride? And you’re about two, three times the max age?”

“No. Carousels are adult. Very adult. It’s a great place to commit murder at, actually. Just ask [Hitchcock](https://youtu.be/uykR8csyO-w),” said Deadpool. He put his hand on Spider-Man’s shoulder. “If this is more of your fragile masculinity talking, then it’s okay, Webs. I’ll be riding right next to you, so you only look half as gay when you’re moaning in ecstasy while getting bucked. Just basic homo math. If you’re doing gay-looking stuff with a buddy, the total amount of gay you possess gets halved. And as everyone knows, half is practically zero. Wanna touch each other’s tits right now and test out how ungay we look? For science? I know how much you’re into sciencing.”

“You’re the only one who wanted to go to the carousel in the first place!” Spider-Man protested. “Besides, patrol isn’t over yet. I’ve got to…” He scrolled down his phone for more crime alerts.

There were none. Why now, of all times, did New York City choose to be clean?

Deadpool cocked his head. Cars whizzed behind him on the highway. A particularly loud beep almost drowned out what he was going to say. “Got to what? Check the stock market? Pizza delivery? New Ariana Grande song dropped? Do real gay stuff like be with your lady friend?”

“Deadpool, I am not even nearly as much of a raging homophobe as you think I am, so stop,” groaned Spider-Man. “If you stop, we can actually…” He took a deep breath. “Go ride on the merry-go-round, I guess. There’s also a petting zoo. Just in case you get sick of the metal ponies. There’re even llamas. To pet. And feed.” 

“That sounds baller as fuck. You can’t be serious. Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I’m trolling,” said Spider-Man flatly, turning around and making his way to the fence separating the highway from the local streets. “You know what the real iconic Flushing landmark is? Burger King. Let’s go there instead.” 

He casually hopped up and over, then jogged across the empty road to a sidewalk. The park that both the carousel and the zoo were in actually wasn’t far off from where they currently were. Even a non-web-slinger could walk there in a reasonable amount of time to reach the carousel before closing. 

“Okay, you are serious.” Deadpool climbed over the highway fence much less gracefully, landing on his boots with a marked thud. “Show me the llamas! My inner [Yzma](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Emperor%27s_New_Groove) demands it, but in a non-homicidal way, for once. The prince and the big married guy having underlying sexual tension can stay, though, depending on whether you’re into that or not. Pull my lever!”

Spider-Man turned his head around to look at Deadpool exasperatedly. “Funny how you just came back to New York but I’m already starting to wish you’d leave.”

“Gasp! You don’t mean that!”

“Keep misappropriating Disney quotes for sexual purposes and maybe I will.” 

After around fifteen minutes of walking and talk-arguing, the duo found the carousel, which was brightly lit up for the early evening. Spider-Man felt only slightly mollified at seeing other adults in the line, mostly couples and parents. He and Deadpool looked terribly out of place, especially since Deadpool had two Japanese swords strapped to his back and various very real-looking guns and knives in holsters around his body. Everyone on line was giving them a wide berth. Some were even ushering their children away quickly at seeing Deadpool, which was a reaction Spider-Man was used to. At least that meant the line was thinning out so they could get on the carousel quicker than anticipated. 

“Don't worry folks, he’s not going to hurt anyone,” Spider-Man said into the line, trying to be reassuring. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“We’re just here to ride the pretty ponies,” said Deadpool. Then he elbowed Spider-Man. “Aren’t you just the most adorable do-gooder? Gosh, I want to give you a red Macintosh and smiley face sticker. Pat your sweet little head, then tell Sally to go stand in the corner for talking about dicks in the middle of class.” 

“Did you know I’m 5’10”?” Spider-Man said suddenly. 

“Oh really,” said Deadpool. “That your [Tinder height](https://www.gq.com/story/why-its-so-tempting-for-men-to-lie-about-their-height-on-dating-apps)?”

“NO!” Spider-Man protested. After he received several stares from those waiting next to them in line for his outburst, he whispered, “No! My actual, measured height!” 

“Sure, pumpkin,” said Deadpool, sounding dismissively nonplussed, like he was an adult and Spider-Man was a child who just told him Santa Claus was real. He turned to a little girl waiting in line in front of him, who was staring back with the fearless fascination only children possessed. “Did you know New York City icon and Minesweeper warlord Spider-Man is 5’10”? Can you believe it, Ashley?”

“My name’s Jackie,” said the little girl. Her mom shushed her in what sounded like murmured Spanish and pulled her daughter closer into her peacoat.

“I’m serious!” Spider-Man continued to whisper.

“Yes, yes, if it’ll help you sleep at night. Mommypool loves you all the same, no matter what your imaginary friend says,” said Deadpool. He patted Spider-Man on the shoulder comfortingly.

Another group of people had been ushered into the carousel area. Deadpool and Spider-Man were now at the head of the line, right before the cordon.

“Why won’t you believe me?” Spider-Man was ready to tear his hair out in frustration, right there, in front of a bunch of kids. 

“I dunno, Webs. Why do you want me to believe you so bad? Not to get all [Dale Carnegie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/How_to_Win_Friends_and_Influence_People) on you but it’s all about how you carry yourself mentally, you know? Like, if you really believe deep down in your heart that you’re 5’10”, then — ”

Spider-Man gave up and tuned his friend out. He was starting to see the appeal in writing about someone else taking it up the ass. Maybe he should take matters into his own hands and write the first Deadpool A/B/O fanfiction he knew of. Deadpool would be 5’8” in the story. No, 5’7”. He would smell like lavender and Cavendish banana, then bear children in a manner that was consistent with Peter’s knowledge of human anatomical reality. Mammalian childbirth was generally far more traumatizing than simply laying eggs. Maybe there’d be C-sections and even perineal tears, although they'd be healed almost instantly so Peter would have to rack his brains for more sadistic situations. Then Deadpool could see how he liked it.

Actually, Deadpool would probably be super into it. If he really were Mrs. Reynolds, he was currently writing all sorts of garbage about himself being a sexy, musclebound Bond girl. By the way the story was going, there was foreshadowing that Deadpool was actually some divine, Jesus-like figure as well. He probably having the time of his life writing his joke story-self, while trolling Peter with a version of Spider-Man that he himself didn’t even subscribe to. And —

Spider-Man felt himself pushed into the merry-go-around area by the attendant manning the ride. The last group had already walked out through a gate behind the carousel, and all the colorful, carved animals were still, awaiting their next riders. True to his word, Deadpool immediately ran to a worn down elephant and mounted it, quickly sidling up to the pole that connected the animal and the attraction. Spider-Man picked a highly unremarkable white horse next to him, both to be close to his friend and to keep an eye out for any unpredictable mercenary antics. 

“How is this fun?” he complained.

“Take a chill pill, S-Dubs,” said Deadpool. “The ride hasn’t even begun. The thrills only start when Ridin’ Dirty comes on over the speakers.”

“I’m 100% sure that song is not anywhere within the same galaxy of a carousel's playlist,” said Spider-Man. He saw Deadpool casually take out his phone and a portable Bose speaker from one of his pouches. 

No. No, no, no, no.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Oh, ‘cause of the tots around? I was reading [_Hustler_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hustler) in the womb. Kicking back amniotic fluid like [Four Loko](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Loko). They’ll be fine. Builds character! They probably hear worse blaring from taxi cabs every day. I know, because I was actually an Uber driver for a month. I had the most epic jams: Saweetie, Kelly Clarkson, Gregorian chants, foot rub ASMR. Sadly, my customers were ungrateful piles of ass, pussies who couldn’t take a wee pistol or three poking into their shoe — ” He easily moved out of the way as Spider-Man made a grab for his speaker. “Wow, Webs. I’m a good Christian girl. No touchy on the first date.”

“Do. Not. Play Chamillionaire,” Spider-Man ground out between gritted teeth. He was suddenly very pissed. Deadpool had been testing his patience, from insulting his hometown to denying his height to using his life as a punchline for sensationalist fiction and now selfishly ruining a carousel ride. His typically deep well of tolerance for Deadpool’s antics had dried up into the ether.

They should’ve gone to Burger King.

“Actually, it’s the Akon remix,” said Deadpool petulantly. 

“Why are you such an asshole?” Spider-Man felt his hands curl up into fists.

“You seem wound up.” Deadpool crossed his arms over the elephant’s head, phone still in one hand and speaker in the other. “Something gotten into you? I won’t even make the obvious innuendo there, by the way, because now I’m really concerned.”

The elephant and the white horse they were on suddenly shifted upwards, indicating the activation of the merry-go-around. Deadpool’s figure weaved in and out of Spider-Man’s vision, along with the brightly lit elephant. The warbling, stereo-like quality of the music playing hurt his ears.

“No,” he said. 

“Sure,” said Deadpool, his eyes narrowed. He put his Bose speaker back into his utility pouch. 

“Do you think I’m a joke?” Spider-Man suddenly blurted.

Deadpool shoved his pinky into where his ear would be, as if he was digging for earwax, even though his ear was covered and he had no reason to be performing that action. “Um. I kind of think everything’s a joke? It’s in my character? Can’t tell if anything’s real, so it all might as well be a joke?”

“Don’t give me the ‘someone’s writing me this way’ surrealist garbage you usually spout,” said Spider-Man. The horse creaked uneasily below him. “You control your own actions, enough to kill even when you know it’s bad and that it’ll piss me off. Then you come back and act buddy-buddy, like you’re some adorable cat who happened to track dirt all over the carpet. Guess what? You’re not.”

“Oh boy, it’s the no-killing thing again,” said Deadpool. His arms were once again folded on top of the bobbing elephant, and he lay his head down on top of his limbs. The music had switched to a soundtrack of children laughing over an ice cream truck jingle, and it was becoming steadily more difficult to hear another person talking. “Look, Webs. I’m trying, I really am. There’s no twelve step program for murderholics, you get me? Outside of the highly flawed industrial prison complex, which seeks to punish rather than reform, by the way. I know it’s not enough, but like, I own 70% as many guns as I did before meeting you, if that means anything. I’ve been a straight F student with regards to the being good thing my whole life. You’re expecting me to become an A+ guy overnight. Without any remedial classes whatsoever.”

"Stop making sense just to jet back off to Jupiter and commit another paid massacre you know _full_ _well_ that you didn't have to take on," Spider-Man practically shouted over the din of the music.

Deadpool was now fiddling on his phone. Suddenly his eyes widened, like a lightbulb was going off in his head. 

"You know what? I _could_ stop doing that a lot less," he agreed loudly. "Why be a pain in the ass half the world over when I could stay here and be a pain in _your_ ass? Right?"

"So you're going to continue murdering, but right under my nose? Is that what you're threatening?" Stereo children continued to laugh as Spider-Man's grip tightened on the pole extending from his mount. 

"You could show me the ropes. To not murder. Be a detox buddy." Deadpool suddenly leaned far into Spider-Man's side and held out his phone. "Say 'congealed cow tit juice'!"

A shutter sound went off. Spider-Man scowling visibly through his mask while Deadpool did a peace sign on top of his elephant was now digitally immortalized. 

"This is so gonna be my new phone bee gee," said Deadpool gleefully, placing his phone back into a utility pouch. "I'll send it to you so we can match."

"You… want me to be your babysitter? So you don't kill?" Spider-Man was still frowning. He did want the picture though. 

"I was _not_ thinking of that porn category, but sure," said Deadpool.

Spider-Man slapped his forehead. "Do you have any shame whatsoever?"

"Shame? That's the [whale at Sea World](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shamu_\(SeaWorld_show\)), right?" Deadpool stared back quizzically, his tone seeming genuinely oblivious. Then he laughed until he cried, nearly falling off his elephant. Their animals were slowing down to a crawl now, no longer going as high on their respective poles as before. 

"You suck," said Spider-Man. 

"Oh — oh yeah?" Deadpool was still convulsing with laughter at his own joke. "Wanna see how?"

"No." _Maybe I would, actually,_ Spider-Man grudgingly admitted to himself, but in a fictional setting where he did not have to confront the realities of becoming entangled with one of the most notorious killers on the planet. Where he could just admire Deadpool in a vacuum, free of all the details that made interacting with him exhausting, and leaving only the ones that made knowing him thrilling. 

The bright music wound down, until the only sounds left were echoes of pre-recorded children laughing. The exit gate opened, signaling that all current carousel riders should dismount and leave. Spider-Man jumped off from his horse almost immediately, turning back to see if Deadpool was coming with. 

"Let's go again," Deadpool said decisively. "I want to ride a unicorn this time."

* * *

* * *

DP  
  


do u syill read  
  
  
did u see this fic  
  
  
by sum1 named backdlipfronfdip  
  
  
it's super freaky lel  
  
  
how tf   
  
  
does it kno i have a forged [mensa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mensa_International) id  
  
  
im not 5'8 tho  
  
  
mayb i have a disproportionate ly big head in pix??  
  
  
or the person woh wrote this must be a giant  
  
  
a freazk one  
  
  
prolly in2 eating peeps  
  
  
[fee fi fo fum](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fee-fi-fo-fum)  
  
  
I do not in fact read  
  
  
at all  
  
  
I am speaking to you solely through Alexa right now, as I have lost all ability to visually comprehend words  
  
  
cmon webs answer the real q  
  
  
u read the sjit im talkin abt or not  
  
  
Nah  
  
  
I actually forgot fanfiction existed until you reminded me just now  
  
  
but ur not bizy these days 😒😒  
  
  
ur even patrolin during afternoons  
  
  
must b super bored  
  
  
y not cozy up witn some fine bourbon and lirerature  
  
  
n dick out at the ready  
  
  
Bc I'm not depraved enough to jerk off to stories strangers made up about my friends??  
  
  
You are joking when it comes to that part, right?  
  
  
nope  
  
  
itz normal 2 jerk off 2 ur friends btw  
  
  
u shud.try it  
  
  
Just a suggestion.  
  
  
u were jetking off to that one spy fic wrrent u  
  
  
no.  
  
  
It was probably a trolling thing anyway.  
  
  
y u think tat  
  
  
how a 27 chappie thing get writtenjUst 2 troll  
  
  
Seems suspicious for the author to 180 suddenly from several years of writing about a weirdly precious version of me to a super cool one   
  
  
And to suddenly start writing about you.  
  
  
old habits aren't that easy to break  
  
  
as I'm sure you'd know.  
  
  
On top of the [Queens Library in Elmhurst](https://www.queenslibrary.org/about-us/locations/elmhurst) btw  
  
  
it's a giant glass building  
  
  
Feel free to hop by  
  
  
to be babysat.  
  
  
yes daddy  
  
  
🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮  
  
  
oh u prefer i b the daddy instead?  
  
  
That can be arranged.  
  
  
  
  
  
🤮🤮  
  
  
Nm don't join me. Stay as far away from me as possible while I dial [Chris Hansen](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Catch_a_Predator).  
  
  
wait u rly tat young?  
  
  
how old r u  
  
  
I'm in my 20's  
  
  
but you just seem like a guy Chris Hansen should know about.  
  
  
ok fnie im just an intern  
  
  
an unsexy one  
  
  
who exists 2 buy u cofee   
  
  
doritos  
  
  
clean ur desk  
  
  
and suck u off 4 a real job  
  
  
unsexily  
  
  
STOP.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW:** fictional non-con mentions 
> 
> **IF YOU WANT TO SKIP THE MOST GRAPHIC PART:** It starts at "He lay on his mattress, dressed in his threadbare shorts" and ends at "It was a neat way for Deadpool to incorporate his not-so-secret vampirism fetish."

As hilarious as it was to see Deadpool try not to act like a headless chicken over finally experiencing the same invasion of privacy Peter felt when consuming fanfiction, he still felt kind of bad.

Peter scrolled down his burner phone, which he used far more than his actual phone these days. The background was a photo of Deadpool and Spider-Man simultaneously petting the same alpaca, taken with flash turned on. Unsurprisingly, their fooling around at Flushing Meadows Park had made the papers. This incident, combined with their more recent appearances together as part of Spider-Man’s Deadpool-watching duties, fueled a new litany of Spideypool fiction, launching the pairing into previously unknown heights of popularity. The amount of new Spideypool stories appearing every day almost kept pace with the traction of Daredevil/Spider-Man and Human Torch/Spider-Man. 

Somehow, Deadpool was stunningly handsome in all the new fanfiction. The common explanation was that Deadpool was only wearing an image-inducer (or some other appearance-altering plot device) to appear unattractive because he was a paranoid mercenary who feared for his privacy, and being sexy was _hard_. He’d been discriminated against, tracked down, chased in the streets, and repeatedly sexually harassed because he was just too hot, so he decided to look like melted cheese for his own safety. Only Spider-Man had proved that he didn't discriminate based on looks, so when they got together, Deadpool no longer felt the need to run from his true, disgustingly gorgeous identity. He would press a button to turn off his image-inducer, shake his prize racehorse-shiny locks, and regale Spider-Man and Spider-Man alone with his freed gorgeous visage. Then they’d fuck. The end.

Peter suspected the new accepted Deadpool headcanon had everything to do with Mrs. Reynolds’ wildly popular conspiracy theory. Fans loved themselves a pretty boy. 

Classes were also over for the academic year, and though summer wasn’t exactly a break, Peter could concentrate much more on his personal research. He’d treated the grad school program with the same schedule as he had for undergrad — he drove himself to work on his research at a punishing pace during the fall and spring so he could let himself go a bit during the summer. He was still a TA, but with the majority of his grad school research done, he could afford to goof off and go web-slinging around the city. 

Writing was included in his goofing off time. He was slightly incensed that his story did not gain any traction whatsoever online, even though his research papers had always been praised as the gold standard for their clarity and succinctness and he had earned As in all his English classes back in high school. The subject matter he chose probably wasn’t lurid enough for most fans’ tastes, even if his grammar and spelling was better than 95%+ of competing content.

Peter had picked the subject of Deadpool being a good guy because he thought it would piss off the other man, but also made it obvious that Spider-Man had penned the work so Deadpool would get the message to stop messing with him. There was something satisfying about ping-ponging back Deadpool’s own obsession with turning Spider-Man to the dark side. The username also should’ve been a no-brainer. Backflips? Spider-Man? Come on. He was leaving a breadcrumb trail except each crumb was an entire loaf, yet Deadpool still wasn’t following.

The only aspect of the whole situation he’d gone out of his way to mask was the physical location his chapters were published from, so Deadpool, world-class tracker that he was, could not find Peter’s civilian identity. 

Somehow, Deadpool did not suspect him at all. He either thought too highly of Spider-Man, or just thought Peter was too square to be capable of trolling. 

_ The Spy(der)man Who Loved Me  _ had finally started to descend from its denouement and was moving onto the nonstop banging, as Mrs. Reynolds had promised. Typically, Peter skipped that part, but somehow, he felt compelled to read it. As he hung out more with Deadpool, so too did more personal details appear in the story than ever before: the exact make of Spider-Man’s suit fabric, the scent notes of the crappy dollar store deodorant he used, the way he splayed his fingers with the pinky folded over his hips when annoyed, how he tended to favor brownstone rooftops over any other types of rooftops, the types of food he felt like eating on a typical weekday if given unlimited choice. 

It was starting to look like Deadpool _wanted_ him to know he was Mrs. Reynolds. 

The new tidbits were generally harmless, but highly specific, which should have creeped Peter out. It was insane how much Deadpool could surmise about him with a sniff or a look, all while affecting a chatty, immature, and insouciant facade. Instead of using all the details he’d deduced for evil, like tracking down Spider-Man’s civilian identity, Deadpool used them to enable thousands of other people on the internet to flesh out Spider-Man better in their minds. To see him as more human, in a way. And also to jerk off.

The purpose of Deadpool’s intense observation seemed so banal that Peter almost felt flattered that someone cared about him that much. It actually helped him resent Deadpool less.

As his suspicions towards Deadpool lessened, other feelings he couldn’t identify cropped up as replacements, and he didn’t want to think about that. He did end up enjoying the porn in  _ The Spy(derman) Who Loved Me _ though. He didn’t even feel bad about admitting to himself how much he liked it. Deadpool was out there furiously getting his rocks off to dragon-werewolf hybrid AUs of his friends and unabashedly admitting it. He was responsible for a cumulative hundreds of thousands of words describing Wolverine’s sensually hirsute form that would haunt Peter for the rest of his life, so he had nothing to be ashamed of, other than not looking quite as stunning as the unmasked Spider-Man described. This time, the fictional Spider-Man had simply been left nameless instead of being called Steven. 

Did Deadpool really devote that much thought to having sex with him, enough to write ten thousand words of self-insert porno and counting, or were his charading skills just that good? Maybe Peter really did prefer to be the daddy. 

Maybe he even thought about the sex scenes several nights in a row with his lotion bottle perpetually uncapped next to his bed. No one ought to know. 

He really wished Deadpool would just come clean about being Mrs. Reynolds so he could get a concrete answer on whether Deadpool’s intentions were genuine or yet another hoodwink. He waited for the subject to come up during one of their increasingly frequent conversations, but Deadpool seemed more into ranting about Backflip, the mysterious author who he was convinced had something out for him.

They were in Brooklyn one evening, near the [Jay Street area](https://www.nycgo.com/boroughs-neighborhoods/brooklyn/downtown-brooklyn/) where several courthouses were located. A brawl had broken out over the parking prices in a garage nearby, escalating into a full-on shootout between several men and one older woman. Deadpool had served as a distracting bullet sponge while Spider-Man subdued the shooters with a few well-aimed webs and drop kicks. For the lady shooter, he apologized before hitting her over the head with her own knock-off Michael Kors handbag.

All the shootout participants were webbed clean to a street light, while onlookers and gawkers took pictures with their phones or tried to touch Spider-Man. One of them even definitely tried to sniff him. He really didn’t know what possessed people to do that.

A grateful nearby food vendor had gifted Spider-Man and Deadpool free hot dogs and soda cans, which they were consuming on the roof of the [Kings County Family Court building](https://0d4g9qvxfl-flywheel.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Supreme_n_Family_Court_Jay_St_jeh-771x578.jpg). Spider-Man had even been generous enough to give Deadpool a lift instead of forcing him to use his own inferior grappling hook amidst the clamoring crowd that grew around them.

“Weasel said looking up IP addresses is useless, did you know?” Deadpool sipped his Coke, his mottled lower face fully visible. “He said the stories all came from the Faroe Islands or Mauritania or some other place all the illegal free TV streaming sites host their domains at. This is Doctor Doom, Tony Stark-level subterfuge we’re talking here. I’ve really chapped this guy’s ass. Once I get ahold of him, he's gonna wish he wrote [Cherik](https://shipping.fandom.com/wiki/Cherik) instead.” 

“Okay,” said Spider-Man. “You said that all this guy has done is written porn of you? That sounds pretty mild, to be honest. I don't see how that's worth stalking and, uh, murdering over. Besides, you’re way too involved in this fandom stuff. Have you considered other hobbies? Ones that aren’t a gross invasion of a real person’s privacy?”

He was being hypocritical, as he had now also stepped into the fanfiction fray, but Deadpool started it. 

“I also play video games,” said Deadpool. “I play Animal Crossing, I play every Halo, I play Chinese checkers, but a version with big-breasted anime ladies, I’m contractually obligated to play Pokémon, every gen...You can add me on Overwatch if you want. It’s kind of a dead game, but [Genji](https://overwatch.fandom.com/wiki/Genji) is practically my self-insert. Messed up inside the suit, cool outfit, swords, being tutored in pacifism by some guy who doesn’t touch the ground? Pretty much me. My BattleTag’s NoobMaster69 number 113754, by the way.”

“....I also main Genji,” said Spider-Man. “What’s your rank?”

“Plat.”

“Oh. I haven’t played in a while, but last I checked, I was Masters.”

“Wow, gaming warlord Spidey!” Deadpool whistled. “I play Mercy too. I could be your healslut! In quickplay!”

“No thanks,” said Spider-Man. His gamertag was far too similar to his fanfiction pen name. “I don’t entertain plat scrubs. Get on my level, and I’ll think about it.”

Deadpool crossed his arms and pouted visibly. “Not cool. [Mercy players are valid too](https://dotesports.com/overwatch/news/mercy-main-ow-stigma-15494), y’know. Anyway, about this Backflip — you know what’s fucked up about this asshole? They actually fantasize about me being good. It’s almost like if you wrote it, but way worse, because you’re actually super smart and this person has all the literary excitement of Prof X’s hair. Which is to say: none! Also, they’re probably being insincere and evil, and you’re not. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me. Are you secretly evil, Webs? There an Anakin lurking under that do-gooder facade of yours? Do you have a secret gun kink or murder fetish I should know about? Because that’d be really awful, just the absolute worst if you did, and I’d like all the details. For reasons. Spare no TMI.” Deadpool suddenly leaned into Spider-Man’s personal space with far too much interest. Their faces were half a foot apart, and for several seconds, the whites of their mask lenses bored into each other.

Spider-Man continued to coolly sip on his Sprite. Ouch. Well, now he had a partial explanation for why his writing wasn’t doing that well. At least Deadpool was reading it. Obsessively.

“Wow, Deadpool,” he said, exaggeratedly pressing his hand to his chest in a dainty manner. “I’m a good Christian girl.”

“Really? Using my own comebacks against me? Who’s the knock-off of who here?” Deadpool retreated back into his own personal space. He set his now empty Coke can next to him. 

“You check the superhero RPF section so often, there’s no way you don’t write some yourself,” said Spider-Man, trying to be casual.

“Oh, me? Nah. Dropped out of high school. Flunked English. One of my teachers actually went to jail for stabbing me after reading my Great Gatsby essay that was just a mnemonic poem on why Gatsby was a tool,” Deadpool replied, just as casually. “Imagine changing your entire set of values just because of a crush. Couldn't be me. Also, I’m practically illiterate. Which is why I just sit back and admire the greats.”

Spider-Man narrowed his eyes. The other man was clearly lying. Spider-Man didn’t even remember what a mnemonic poem was, and he’d actually aced English class. 

An [Amber Alert](https://amberalert.ojp.gov/) pinged on his burner phone.  _ Grey Honda Civic, last seen in Woodside_, the alert read.

He picked up Deadpool’s Coke can along with his own Sprite since he knew the other would just litter. “We’re gonna have to pack up and head to your favorite place in the world, Queens.”

“But it _ is _ my favorite place in the world,” said Deadpool, cocking his head and blinking owlishly. “You live there.”

Spider-Man was so struck by the sudden tenderness that he was speechless. Then suspicion quickly crept back into his mind, and he turned away. 

“Bet you just want to pet the llamas again,” he said.

“You got me. I’d love to pet your llama,” said Deadpool. “With its long, thick, and hairy… neck.”

Was Spider-Man going crazy or was Deadpool laying the flirting on even heavier than usual recently? Like way heavier? Didn’t he believe Spider-Man had a girlfriend? Maybe it was too obvious he had lied about the girlfriend thing, because he never mentioned her once since their encounter in Ridgewood. Or Deadpool had forgotten. Or Deadpool’s moral ambiguity also applied to relationships.

Maybe this was just [Occam’s razor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occam%27s_razor) and he thought too much. 

“Yeah, you could ride this llama someday,” said Spider-Man quietly into the air.

He regretted what he said as soon as he said it. God, he hated himself. So, so much. Why did he say that? Clearly, he was going insane from being lonely.  Now that he had less work, his mind was wandering over to other things. The long neglected horny things, like whether Deadpool really looked that far off from the fantasy hottie version of himself he wrote about. Whether his touch was just as tender, and his pecs just as defined. 

The fact that he was observing, always observing, taking note of every little action Spider-Man made, every minute physical aspect, and caching each detail away in his inscrutable mind as if they were precious, also did something to Peter. It made him feel things. It made him feel a lot of things.

Yeah, sue him. Maybe he was _ very  _ lonely and  _ very _ self-absorbed.

His cheeks burned. The crisp late spring air lashed his face, even though there was no wind and he had a mask on as a buffer.

Now Deadpool was the one who looked like suspicion had crept into his mind. He was very quiet, his eyes widening for a second before returning to their normal size. 

“Think I’m hearing things, Webs,” he said slowly. “What did you just say?”

“It’d be nice to ride the llamas someday? Maybe that’s an attraction they have? Riding the animals?” Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck nervously. Whew. Deadpool offered him a sturdy, stable lifeline back into the safety zone and he grabbed onto it like he was drowning.

For a few seconds, Deadpool was silent. Then, putting his usual air of ease back on like a hat, he replied, “Bet it’d be like sitting on that one fuzzy rug everyone has in their bathroom that they never wash. But moving.”

“Somehow, I feel called out,” said Spider-Man. He considered taking Deadpool with him on his back, as he had been begged to countless times, but with his slip-up just now, it might be awkward. He was also pretty sure Deadpool had a teleportation device that he was pointedly hiding the existence of just to get the opportunity to catch the Spidey bus. What a dickwad.

Spider-Man easily tossed their trash into a public garbage receptacle far below them, causing Deadpool to whistle. 

Then the Spectacularly Spiteful Spider-Man said, “Welp, catch you there,” and backflipped off the building without waiting. 

He might as well have actually flipped off Deadpool. Why was he taking his anger out on the other man? Was it because Deadpool kept lying about his dumb fandom activities for no reason? But he was also lying, and he was the one who responded to Deadpool’s overture. He was the one who slipped up. By accident, but still. The wind created from his speed slapped him in the face this time for real, and he tried to focus on the heady sensation of sailing through the air, of seeing hundreds of little people-specks below milling about, unable to reach him. The buildings in this area were not as tall as Manhattan’s so he couldn’t gain as much height, but being in that middle ground where he could still interact with passersby if he wanted while rapidly swinging above was its own kind of thrill.

Funnily enough, it was difficult to get from Brooklyn to Queens by subway without detouring into Manhattan, so for him, web slinging was the most optimal way to travel between the two lesser known boroughs.

There was a ping from his phone, indicating he’d received a message. He stopped on a roof briefly to look at it.

Deadpool had texted him. 

DP  
  


ditching isnt kewl   
  
  
im thre nao btw  
  
  
jus call me kurt  
  
  
dw i got it u can go baq home  
  
  
2 pet ur llama  
  
  
all nite  
  
  
😜  
  
  
wont kill any1 i promise  
  
  
just gona hand out luv taps like candy  
  
  
sound of a babyfuckrs tibia snapping soudns kinda lik a twix bar if u think abt it  
  
  
atcyally dont think abt it   
  
  
gn  


Spider-Man didn’t answer. Regardless of Deadpool’s reassurances, he still couldn’t trust the other man, and continued to travel towards Woodside. When Google Maps informed him that he had arrived firmly in Woodside’s boundaries, the Amber Alert on his phone had been rescinded, with an update reporting that the wanted vehicle and kidnapped child had been found.

Well, he really hoped Deadpool hadn’t killed anyone. There was no sign of him either, the entire incident having been almost magically resolved, to the point of seeming gift-wrapped. 

Spider-Man patrolled alone for the rest of the night. He stopped a few muggings here and there, prevented a bicycle theft, and pointedly [ignored a subway turnstile jumper](https://ny.curbed.com/2017/7/26/16034038/nyc-subway-turnstile-jumping-decriminalized-bill-mta) he saw. The evening was winding down to be a very typical patrol. It was strangely unsatisfying, and a heavy weight developed around his chest. He did not respond to Deadpool’s last messages.

When Peter staggered home through his window at 1 AM, he shucked off his Spider-Man suit, changed into a shirt and pajama shorts, snapped open his laptop, and typed in the web address for Google Docs.

In a post-patrol adrenaline-fueled haze, he proceeded to bang out five thousand words about Deadpool fucking his brains out, and uploaded it to his stupid fanfiction account. If Deadpool really just thought he was some ill-intentioned mastermind, then he might as well do whatever he wanted. Watching over Deadpool in real life was getting exhausting (“You ever read [Baby-sitters Club](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Baby-Sitters_Club), Webs? You’d so be Stacey!”), so he decided to reverse the situation and have Deadpool be the one taking care of everything in his fictional world. He readily became the Bottom Bitch, if it meant fake Deadpool finally stopped being a shit and took initiative in revealing his true interests. If it meant Spider-Man no longer had to twist his arm into achieving his full potential for decency.

Maybe the answer really was to suck and fuck Deadpool into being good, and the creepy fans who’d moved on from that topic to writing about them on sexy sheep-petting dates were right. In his sleep-deprived delirium, he was even willing to make it happen. 

God, Peter really was repressed as fuck. Not too long ago, he had fantasies about murdering villains, and now he was falling face first into fictional depravity about people he knew. All thanks to Deadpool. It really wasn’t fair. He didn’t even know why he was so dead set on turning Deadpool of all people into someone better. Maybe he felt obligated to return the intense interest the other man seemed to have in him? Maybe because Deadpool had the dangerous power to hold up a mirror to his own violent urges, and he had to deny them at all costs? Maybe it was because they were more similar, motivation and personality-wise, than he ever wanted to think? Maybe it was just because he was shallow and found Deadpool’s shape hot, the red and black a sexier shadow of his own juvenile blue and red? 

He had typed madly as if he was back in undergrad and had a paper due in three hours, except the paper was about his alter ego and Deadpool fucking on a rooftop, with especial exploration of the consequences Deadpool’s mutation might have had for sex on an abrasive stone floor. He did not think even  _ once _ about entertaining Mrs. Reynolds’ ridiculous Adonis Deadpool headcanon, and wrote the porn entirely based on what he had seen from the other man lifting up his mask to eat and drink. Admittedly, Deadpool’s condition wasn’t pleasant, but for Peter, nothing made up could beat the beauty and infinite possibilities of reality. That was why he loved science, and that was why he desired to see the man who’d been pulling him apart from behind a screen for well over a month.

At 7 AM, his eyes having gone completely numb from staring at Google Docs for several hours, Peter finally dropped onto his mattress and fell asleep. 

* * *

* * *

A week later, Mrs. Reynolds dropped a bomb into Peter’s inbox.

She — no, Deadpool, he was near certain now that it was Deadpool — had started a new Spideypool story, turning out three chapters as a starter. Once again, it was highly unusual in comparison to his previous work. The non-con tags in Deadpool’s fanfiction were always in regards to faceless background characters and the situations happened only to set the tone of the world in that particular story. Rapists also always got their comeuppance by the end, dying to gruesome, protracted methods filled with pain. Deadpool knew more about 16th century torture implements than anyone had a right to. It was almost History Channel-level educational.

This new story,  _ don’t read this pls >_< _ , had practically every questionable trope under the sun shoved in. Gang rape, physical abuse, mind break, gunplay, omega oppression, sexual slavery, forced breeding, egg laying, vore, along with a whole host of other kinks Peter had never even heard of.

And all of them were set to happen to Spider-Man. 

Peter was lying on his mattress, window open to let in the cool night breeze. Aunt May had visited not too long ago with boxes of burger casserole, several of which were still sitting in his fridge. He had just gone down to the laundromat yesterday, so he was in comfy, clean, Downy-scented pajamas and lying on top of baby-soft white sheets. None of the undergrads in the remedial summer classes he was TAing for were too horrible, as they were painfully aware of their own academic shortcomings and thus were less egotistical than the undergrads he TAed for in the average semester. MJ had comfortably moved into her shared LA apartment and they'd had a lengthy conversation yesterday about music recommendations after she'd ranted about never wanting to listen to Radiohead ever again after getting stuck in three hours of traffic. Harry was returning from business abroad and they’d hang out again soon. Johnny really thought he was doing something by constantly sending Peter the absolute most unfunny motivational memes he found on 9gag. Unlike with Deadpool, Peter knew for sure Johnny was doing it just to piss him off.

Life was finally getting somewhere halfway decent. 

If Peter had been his naive self several months ago, his mood might have soured a bit seeing Deadpool’s new work. He would have been mildly appalled. He would have clicked the link to the story, skimmed everything, exited the window, and quickly put it out of his mind. 

But now, he was engrossed. Thoroughly. If he thought about it, the whole shebang was hilarious. Deadpool was either amping up as a challenge, or was straight up _mad_. Maybe he’d finally started picking up on the loaves of bread Spider-Man was dropping on the ground. 

Peter was deeply invested in the thought of Deadpool in a cashmere bathrobe, sitting at his $20,000 two monitor gaming set-up, swishing a glass of bourbon with one hand and furiously typing out graphic self-insert Spider-Man rape with the other. At least, that’s what he pictured. 

In the first chapter of the story, Deadpool’s mutation had somehow gained the variant ability of allowing new Deadpools to spawn from his severed body parts, which he used to create a massive, unkillable army to take over the planet. The world had been razed to the ground overnight and transformed into a monolithic anarchist state, where trying to assassinate the original Pool would only serve to increase his army’s power. Self-styled Emperor Deadpoolius Penus Maximus I ruled sporting a hot pink ermine cape and a custom coronet with cat ears, while his children ran amok, murdering, ransacking, and defacing national monuments. However disparate the army may have been as replicas of an unpredictable mercenary, every single Deadpool was insatiable in their desire for one thing and one thing only: Spider-Man’s weepy butthole. And that is where the fun began.

The online reaction to this story had been overwhelming. Peter counted four pages of comments for one chapter. The majority were positive, although he did catch a significant number slamming the depravity on display, even though Deadpool had been surprisingly considerate and warned repeatedly of the graphic content from the title to the tags. There were also a few comments hoping he wouldn't go ahead with the vore. He thought he even saw some former Spideypool trolls shamelessly begging for updates.

He suspected Deadpool had written this story for either him or the malevolent entity known as backflip_frontflip to clutch their pearls over. Peter wasn’t going to be bothered whatsoever. After he had uploaded his porn to the internet (and suddenly received a very small amount of fanfare for it), he had stopped caring. 

Honestly? The new story was kind of hot.

Being with one Deadpool who obsessively wanted his boring, nerdy ass was an interesting thought. Being with a thousand Deadpools who obsessively wanted to fill his boring, nerdy ass in every way possible was a _very_ interesting thought. He lay on his mattress, dressed in his threadbare shorts, lazily scrolling through his phone, taking in all the descriptions of Spider-Man choking from taking the twentieth DP (ha, double penetration, why did he find it funny) dick in his mouth and the twenty-fifth DP dick in his ass on the third morning of his eternal sexual slavery. He casually scrolled through Spider-Man futilely trying to spit out Deadpool’s blood that he’d been forced to drink, the liquid administered only so that he’d gain the healing factor necessary to withstand being fucked hundreds of times in succession. It was a neat way for Deadpool to incorporate his not-so-secret vampirism fetish. Deadpool’s in-story asexual reproduction via [fragmentation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fragmentation_\(reproduction\)) was also a fascinating avenue for his mutation to branch off in, especially given the real-life seemingly limitless possibilities of his cancer cells.

What Deadpool looked like under his suit hadn’t been mentioned so far. The Dread Deadpool Army described in the story was so undiscerning in their violence that Peter found it incredibly hard to reconcile it with the real Deadpool he knew, who for all his bloodlust did at least make an effort to pick jobs he personally believed in. Reading  _ don’t read this pls >_< _ was like absorbing a story about a weird roleplay version of themselves. Like avatars being controlled to kiss (or sexually enslave one another, in this case) in an MMORPG.

Peter didn’t bat an eye at the parade of cruelty and abuse happening to his fictional self, not even once. 

All he did was reach over for the lotion next to his bed and roll down his faded pajama shorts. He, a penniless grad student jerking off to rape porn in the dark of his dilapidated Astoria apartment, was clearly the definition of the universally desired, miserably coquettish sex symbol described in the story. 

If Peter didn’t know any better, he might have been fully converted to the Deadpoolian brand of sexual degeneracy. 

Meanwhile, in the Twitter topics section, Deadpool had become a briefly trending hashtag. He had been exceptionally well-behaved the entire week since Peter’s porn upload, having been credited with finding the grey Honda Civic in the Amber Alert and doing various good deeds around the city. Some of his endeavors were altruistic to the point of being bizarre, like piggybacking an old man across the street against his will before traffic lights turned green. Throughout the week, they’d still been in communication, with Spider-Man having thanked Deadpool for taking care of the Amber Alert. 

The day after the Amber Alert incident, Deadpool had asked if Spider-Man had seen the fucked up shit his mortal fanfiction enemy, backflip_frontflip, had penned. Peter was not aware of how the porn he’d written was fucked up, especially compared to the myriad of fetishes Deadpool was into, but he suspected that the other man took any descriptions of attraction towards his true physical appearance to be insults or jokes. 

Admitting to Deadpool that he had been responsible for converting Spider-Man into jerking off to stories about himself and writing sexual frustration-fueled porn was shameful. Somehow, it was the most embarrassing thing he could imagine, like he’d be waving a white flag in some secret online war he and Deadpool had been engaged in. So Spider-Man continued to be flippant, saying he had not read fanfiction in ages, not even the ones Deadpool brought up, and that it would be a good idea for him to try to detox from fandom entirely.

Then Deadpool churned out three full chapters of lurid post-apocalyptic Spider-Man gang rape fantasy. And then two more chapters the day after that.

And Spider-Man found himself painfully into it. He really had to continue to pretend that he didn’t read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that Deadpool's violent, bizarre fanfiction probably wouldn't be popular in our universe unless he started writing soulmate/coffee shop/college/roommate/etc AUs (WITHOUT the gun fixation and egg laying). I imagine he would really struggle to write a normal hurt/comfort fic.
> 
> The average Marvel universe citizen is probably comfortable with the idea of rampaging dinosaurs, alien pirates invading the planet, dimensions being destroyed, and other comic-typical weirdness so their tastes in fiction would lean more towards the strange than ours, as events we think of as fantastical are a regular occurrence there.


	8. Chapter 8

Deadpool was near certain his Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man was fucking with him on some level. The more charitable thought floating around his head was that Spidey was just emotionally constipated and couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was feeling, like [most guys his age](https://www.businessinsider.com/age-brain-matures-at-everything-2017-11). Deadpool remembered being in his twenties. Sweet summer child Wade W. Wilson was confused about his sexuality, felt a constant need to prove himself to the point of obfuscating stupidity, and overreacted to perceived slights with petty gestures or extreme violence. Well, he still reacted to slights with petty gestures or extreme violence, but yeah. 90% of that sounded like Spider-Man’s current behavior.

Even so, Deadpool wasn’t entirely convinced that one mysterious author who knew way too much about him was Spidey. 

**REASONS WHY IT MIGHT BE SPIDEY**

_✓ Knows invasive personal details about Deadpool_

_✓ Writing style sounds super nerdy, which Spidey is_

_✓ Spider-Man-like username_

_✓ Aside from the porno, subject matter sounds like a Spidey wet dream_

**REASONS WHY IT'S NOT SPIDEY**

_X Attraction to unmasked Deadpool_

_X Spidey doesn’t read fanfiction anymore (?)_

_X Spidey has a girlfriend (?)_

_X The username is so Spider-Man that it seems like a trap_

_X Story is boring, unlike Spidey_

_X Comics and their shitty "some asshole was impersonating your loved one all along!" plotlines, amirite?_

He had devised a genius plan to resolve this matter once and for all. The plan just happened to be writing the most erotically vile things about Spider-Man he could think of. The not-my-proudest-fap scenarios. Not only would the publication of this story tell a possible enemy that Spider-Man couldn’t be used against him since he cared so little that he’d write graphic torture porn about him, but if Spider-Man really was reading, it would push him to finally respond instead of acting above it all. 

How Spider-Man reacted would finally define their relationship or completely destroy it. _Would you still like me, even if I was the kind of nut job who fapped to the thought of ten thousand mes fighting to share you, like an entire Victorian orphanage engaged in a battle to the death over a single bowl of gruel?_

Honestly, he wouldn’t mind reading a story about himself being used as an eternal fucktoy by endlessly replicating Spider-Men, so long as it was well-written. He would be into it. More than into it. It’d be severely out of character for him for that situation to even be non-consensual, but Spider-Man put on the airs of a mega-normie who watched [Die Hard during Christmas](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/is-die-hard-a-christmas-movie). There was no telling if he’d like what Deadpool had written.

He had already tested Spider-Man several times. Initially, it was to look for instances of hypocrisy. One of the first tests had been removing his mask partially to eat, to see if the supposedly tolerant Spider-Man would recoil in disgust. For a while, they ate in companionable silence, with nothing happening. Then Spider-Man suddenly laughed at him, making him think he had found the crack in the other’s moral armor. It turned out he’d been chuckling because of a giant splotch of pigeon poop that’d landed on Deadpool’s head.

Then he’d tried becoming increasingly flirtatious. He had been respectful at first. As respectful as one with a continually out-of-order brain-to-mouth filter could possibly be, anyway. Spider-Man was his hero, the representation of everything he couldn’t be in an all-too-similar outfit and better-looking package. When they first met, he even felt slightly bad for having written thousands of words about Wolverine fucking him by that point. 

But then Spider-Man actually seemed to tolerate his presence. Even enjoy it. They didn’t stop hanging out, even when Deadpool started to sneak more innuendo into their conversations. Maybe he even liked it?

If Spider-Man honestly didn’t read fanfiction anymore, then Deadpool was safe venting his most sordid ideas online once again. He no longer had to write with the intention of Spider-Man witnessing the terrible, possibly boundary-violating shenanigans he got up to online. He could rub one out freely without imagining Spidey making a sad face in his mind over all the fucked up shit he wanted to do.

If Spider-Man did read it and hated it, he would absolutely have to comment on it, thus revealing that he still read fanfiction. This could go two ways upon Spider-Man finding out Deadpool was behind XxMrsReynolds69420xX: he would never speak to Deadpool again, or he would just forget about the incident, like the forgiving cutie patootie he was. Forgive and forget was the option Deadpool would bet on, if he were cautious.

If Spider-Man read the story and enjoyed it, then he was clinically insane. He’d be Deadpool’s kind of freak, and they could ride off into the sunset on a mint green moped in Harley Quinn and Joker cosplays. The Suicide Squad movie versions, because either he or Spidey could _kill_ the Daddy’s Little Monster look. Deadpool called backsies.

The chances of Spider-Man being into _don’t read this pls >_< _were slim, but Deadpool would still hedge all his bets on this option, because he was a gambling man, and he had tons of money besides. 

If Spider-Man was backflip_frontflip, then he was _definitely_ at least into Deadpool, no matter how much he protested. Deadpool knew from loads and loads of experience that you didn’t write horny fanfiction if you weren’t at least a little bit into one of the people you were writing about.

He also suspected that Spider-Man, whether he knew it or not, enjoyed having his boundaries played with. Superheroes were all masochistic on some level. No one pranced about in a silly costume getting slapped six ways from Sunday unless they actually got off to suffering. Deadpool bet that at least 60% of the city’s spandexed freaks was on [FetLife](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FetLife). He himself had several accounts, actually, but at least he had practical reasons for always being in costume. 

🖤❤🖤🕷🖤❤🖤  
  


hi  
  
  
wnna let me tag along 2day  
  
  
u can put a child leash on me if u want  
  
  
i can provide the leash  
  
  
You’re making it really hard for me to let you.  
  
  
y  
  
  
You know why  
  
  
wow.  
  
  
ur mind went str8 2 the gutter  
  
  
the leahs isnt for sexi reasons  
  
  
i had it on hand anywayz  
  
  
was my pets  
  
  
shes not with me nemore...  
  
  
Sorry to hear that.  
  
  
I’m sure she’s somewhere better now.  
  
  
ya she livd a good life  
  
  
she was blind n old  
  
  
would spike my food n calld me names  
  
  
liked florals  
  
  
.........................  
  
  
so where we gnna met  
  
  
??  
  
  
??????????  
  
  
spidey  
  
  
ssssssspidey  
  
  
weeeeeeeeeeeeeebsss  
  
  
charlotte  
  
  
SPIDERMAN  
  
  
SPIDER-MAN  
  
  
SPIDER MANFRED  
  
  
SPIDERSON MANICOTTI  
  
  
y u stop resopnding????  
  
  
Spiderman, Spiderman! Does whatever a spider can. Spins a web any size, Catches thieves, just like flies. Look out! Here comes the Spiderman!  
  
  
Is he strong? Listen, Bud! He's got radioactive blood. Can he swing from a thread? Take a look overhead. Hey there, there goes the Spiderman!  
  
  
In the chill of night, At the scene of the crime Like a streak of light He arrives just in time  
  
  
Spiderman, Spiderman Friendly neighborhood Spiderman Wealth and fame he's ignored Action is his reward To him, life is a great big bang-up Wherever there's a hang-up You'll find the Spiderman!  
  
  
Spiderman, Spiderman! Does whatever a spider can. Spins a web any size, Catches thieves, just like flies. Look out! Here comes the Spiderman!  
  
  
Is he strong? Listen, Bud! He's got radioactive blood. Can he swing from a thread? Take a look overhead. Hey there, there goes the Spiderman!  
  
  
In the chill of night, At the scene of the crime Like a streak of light He arrives just in time  
  
  
Spiderman, Spiderman Friendly neighborhood Spiderman Wealth and fame he's ignored Action is his reward To him, life is a great big bang-up Wherever there's a hang-up You'll find the Spiderman!  
  
  
Spiderman, Spiderman! Does whatever a spider can. Spins a web any size, Catches thieves, just like flies. Look out! Here comes the Spiderman!  
  
  
STOP  
  
  
for the love of god stop  
  
  
where did you even get this poem? Did you write it or something?  
  
  
I’m only replying bc you’re blowing up my phone  
  
  
What you said before  
  
  
I really hope that was a tasteless joke.  
  
  
wat part  
  
  
liking florals?  
  
  
just bc she was blind dorsnt mean she coldnt appretecte a nice rose print  
  
  
jinda ableist of u webs  
  
  
Don’t talk to me anymore.  
  
  
wat i do  
  
  
Keeping an old lady as a pet????????????????????????  
  
  
It’s not real,right???????????  
  
  
o yea it wsa a joke  
  
  
definitely a joke  
  
  
a consensual joke  
  
  
haha.  
  
  
Sorry.  
  
  
Was it?  
  
  
yes  
  
  
Really??????  
  
  
yes i swear  
  
  
pls let me come ill b good  
  
  
o god it phycsailly pains me not 2 say anythbng abt tat last phrase  
  
  
see ill behave  
  
  
no leasf required  
  
  
Fine  
  
  
I'll believe you  
  
  
This once.  
  
  
Jackson Heights Roosevelt station  
  
  
I’m above the [entrance w the glass awning under a bridge](https://s3.amazonaws.com/fathom_media/photos/Queens-Jackson-Heights-74th-Street-Train-Station.jpg.1200x800_q85_crop.jpg).  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** There is pornography in this chapter, although it is short 'n mild (IMO).

Spider-Man had a marked preference for stopping small-time crime in his local Queens haunts. The international conspiracies, city-wide plots, and galactic threats were more easily left to better-funded Manhattan-based teams, such as the Avengers or the Fantastic Four. Criminal activity also tended to go up as the weather became warmer and the day longer, thus necessitating longer hours and more attention from Spider-Man. It was not yet June, but Daylight Savings Time was well out of everyone’s minds. 

Deadpool was glad for the shorter evenings, because it meant they could see each other before the sun set. He used to always make a show of taking a while to get to where Spider-Man was waiting, but this time, he just slapped on his teleportation belt and showed up right under the gigantic rusted 7 train overpass that connected to the Roosevelt Ave. subway station and cast blocks upon blocks of the bustling surrounding Jackson Heights area in shadow. Since he’d used the device right under Spidey’s nose to get to Woodside instantaneously about a week ago, he might as well be more nonchalant in employing it. 

True to his word, Spider-Man was crouching on the glass awning above the entrance to the subway station, crowds and crowds of commuters milling in and out the doors under him unawares. The roar of the 7 train pulling into the tracks overhead, as well as the grumbling of cars inching on by, drowned out all conversations that were held at conversational decibel ranges.

“Hey, Webs!” Deadpool shouted at the awning. He waved fervently. Spider-Man acknowledged him with a nod, then did something he never did before. He shot a web out at a metal beam supporting the overpass, swung forward, and snatched Deadpool up with him as he gracefully landed on the roof of the brick tenement across the street. When they were firmly on a flat surface again, he let Deadpool go.

Deadpool immediately wrapped his arms around Spider-Man’s side, sticking on as if he were a mouse caught in glue.

“Can you maybe get off?” Spider-Man’s tone was patient, like he was only making a suggestion.

At least, that’s how Deadpool took it.

“We really should do that again,” he said shamelessly. “You know how far away this place is from the city. I’m a guest! Gimme me a Groupon on the zipline rides.”

“I’m pretty sure you take less effort to get here than me,’” said Spider-Man amusedly. He seemed fairly nonplussed by the physical contact, making the most minimal effort possible to shove the other man off. “Besides, you’re the one who begged to come.”

He smelled like detergent. Fresh and soft. Did he wash his suit recently? It had tinges of ashy concrete, Axe Dark Temptation, and musk during their last several hangouts. Not that Deadpool logged information like that or anything. His readers would never be privy to the full scent notes list of Homme Araignée Eau de Parfum. That information was for him and him alone. 

“Please stop smelling me,” said Spider-Man, his tone growing slightly more agitated. “It’s just a little gross, and people have been doing that to me a lot lately for some reason.” 

“I’m not smelling you,” said Deadpool, his nose buried into Spider-Man’s side. This was the most physical contact he’d ever been allowed with the other man. He was practically taking a hammer to about five or six of Spider-Man’s physical boundaries, and Spider-Man was _letting him_. “I’m scenting you. God, I thought you’d read a bunch of A/B/O to know that by now.”

“Thought you were going to turn to other hobbies,” said Spider-Man, still failing to pry Deadpool’s face away from his abdomen. It was hard as a board. Spidey was built like a truck under that blue and red spandex. A sexy, slim truck with thighs you could bounce a quarter off of. “After you got that _awful_ story written about you and you didn’t like it.”

Deadpool finally removed his face from Spider-Man’s side indignantly, his hand reaching behind him. “You’re the one who wr — ”

He was suddenly pushed to the far side of the tenement roof by Spider-Man, but it was too late. A blinding flash of white exploded in their immediate vision.

* * *

* * *

When Deadpool fully came to, Jackson Heights, Queens and its hustle and bustle was a distant dream.

He was in a small, brightly lit white room about the size of an average closet, but with a lower ceiling and greater width. There were no windows or even apparent vents. The only other person he saw in his periphery was Spider-Man, who was crowded up against him even more intimately than their last situation. His thighs framed Deadpool’s sides, hooked under Deadpool’s armpits, while the side of Deadpool’s face was firmly planted against Spider-Man’s heaving chest. He turned his head up to greet Spider-Man’s equally as shocked expression, visible even through his mask. By the looks of it, they'd both woken up at around the same time, Deadpool a bit earlier.

“Where the hell are we?” Deadpool demanded, rapidly looking from side-to-side. His movement was tragically limited. There was about three feet of space to maneuver around in before he’d bang into the ceiling of their current room.

His teleportation belt was gone.

“Stop that, your chin is grinding into me,” hissed Spider-Man. 

“My jawline _is_ very cut."

“This isn’t the time or place!” Spider-Man maneuvered his hands around the surface of the room as much as he could. He slammed his fist against the wall behind him.

Nothing happened.

He tried again with the ceiling, then the wall opposite, the walls adjacent, and finally the floor. Not a single dent appeared on any of the surfaces, no matter how much he tried pounding them with his fists and eventually also with his feet.

"Where's your teleporter?" Spider-Man asked.

"Must've been taken from me when I was knocked out."

“Well, at least there’s a vent,” said Spider-Man, groping behind his back, which was pressed against a wall. The fabric of his mask creased between his brows in a frown. “But it’s not even nearly large enough to fit someone inside.”

“This is one of the weirdest prisons I’ve ever seen,” said Deadpool. “And I’ve been in a lot, consensually and non-consensually. What is this, [THX 1138](https://www.lucasfilm.com/productions/thx-1138/), but with walls? What's the deal?”

“Procreation,” said a voice that belonged neither to him or Spider-Man. The noise came from all directions at once, reverberating slightly throughout all the walls.

“What?” Spider-Man seemed to be in disbelief. 

“Nice,” said Deadpool, before he could help himself.

Spider-Man glared down at him, then whispered heatedly, “What is wrong with you?”

He turned his head away from Deadpool. “Explain,” he demanded of the wall-voice.

“Should you copulate and both of you release your gametes, a trigger will be activated, allowing you to leave this room.”

“Why us?” Spider-Man asked, his eyes narrowed.

“It does not matter. If you fail to do so, the room will be filled with a gas specially formulated to kill you and disable your companion. You have ten minutes, starting from now.”

“Wow,” said Deadpool. “This is the most trope-y, lazy Fuck or Die situation that could be concocted. What kind of hack even came up with this?” He stared emotionlessly into the wall, as if gazing into a distance beyond their current dimension.

“Rest assured this situation is not for pornographic purposes. We simply desire your gametes. Should you follow our instructions, we will release you back onto the rooftop you were on previously.”

“So… you’re using us to make a Spideypool egg ba — a Spideypool — a Spider-Man and Deadpool genetic monstrosity?” asked Spider-Man. He was visibly cringing, his entire body stiffening around Deadpool, who felt very, very proud of himself upon hearing the slip-ups. 

“Yes, the perfect weapon. A Spideypool egg baby,” said the disembodied voice.

“ _Why_ is it always eggs?” Spider-Man moaned. He sounded like he was ready to jump off a cliff.

“Don’t worry, Webs, your cloaca is safe. [I volunteer mine as tribute](https://youtu.be/v98Rh9qzmPs?t=43),” said Deadpool. 

“Somehow, I feel like this is your fault,” said Spider-Man accusatorily. “I’ve never heard of anyone being into people laying eggs until you started poisoning the internet with your writing.”

“Nine minutes remaining,” said the disembodied voice, this time in a markedly pre-recorded manner. 

“What do you mean?” Deadpool asked innocently. “I don’t write. Flunked English, remember?”

Spider-Man snorted. “Right, your emoticon-spamming alter ego does. Why do you pretend to be a chick online, anyway?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

Spider-Man stared down at Deadpool, whose chin was still cushioned by his warm, solid chest. “Sure, _Mrs. Reynolds._ ”

“Um, you’re saying it wrong. It’s supposed to be ex ex Mrs. Reynolds sixty-nine four-twenty ex ex. Applies to the [MLA](https://owl.purdue.edu/owl/research_and_citation/mla_style/mla_formatting_and_style_guide/mla_general_format.html) citation too, by the way,” said Deadpool. “I’m also known as the Spider-Man RPF Queen. ♫♩ _[You can call me queen bee.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFasFq4GJYM) And baby, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, let me live that fantasy _! ♩”

“So you admit it.” Spider-Man’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you feel any shame at all for writing an entire literary canon of pornography about me and Wolverine?”

“Nope,” said Deadpool. He took a moment to consider their situation. They were uncomfortably pressed up against each other like sardines in a can and in the worst case scenario, Spider-Man only had several minutes left to live. He might as well ask. “Did you read my newest story?”

Spider-Man hesitated, as if he had to think about his answer. 

If he had to think, that meant there was something he didn’t want to admit.

“You did!” said Deadpool gleefully. “You read all of it, didn’t you?” He could feel Spider-Man’s animosity all the way down to his bones. He was glaring daggers because he’d been read like an open book.

“So?”

“Whaddya think of it?” Deadpool wrapped his arms around Spider-Man’s sides and rubbed his cheek against his slightly detergent-scented chest, as if to snuggle into him. He did it. He fucking did it. New York City’s most virtuous wall crawler was now a card-carrying degenerate, and he was to blame. He didn’t even deliberately plan this, not at first. Spider-Man started reading Mrs. Reynolds’ work all on his own. There had to be an innate spark of depravity for him to be willing to go down the rabbit hole completely.

Spider-Man screwed his eyes shut. He looked like he was in pain, either from reminiscing upon the contents of what he read, or from being loath to tell the truth. “It was…”

“Eight minutes remaining,” said the annoying, robotic voice from the walls.

“Shaddap!” Deadpool yelled into the ceiling. “I’m trying to get Spider-Man to admit to something here!” He turned his gaze back to Spider-Man. “It was what, sweetheart?”

Spider-Man snapped his eyes open. Were he unmasked, his gaze would probably be filled with unparalleled enmity. 

“Alright, Deadpool, it’s your win,” he spat. “Screw you and your chocolaty brown orbs and your Stevens and your dubious Bible knowledge and your asexual reproduction. I liked it. I really liked it. I liked your awful, messed up porn. Happy now?”

Yes, he was. 

Deadpool was not only happy, but ecstatic beyond belief, on cloud nine, although he didn’t know why Spider-Man was so upset about admitting to enjoying fucked up porn. Must have been the confused, repressed younger guy in him talking again. Did he know that every other healthy boy his age looked at effed up porn, especially with how ubiquitous the internet was now? What had he even been jerking off to before? His grandpa’s dog-eared copies of _Penthouse_? That one poster of [Farrah Fawcett in front of a blanket](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Farrah_Fawcett_red_swimsuit_poster)? Deadpool would teach him all the ways of the world, and then some. Oh, there was so, _so_ much more fucked up shit Spider-Man hadn’t seen and gotten his rocks off to yet. There were no losers in this situation, only winners.

“This is the best day of my life, Spidey-poo,” sighed Deadpool. “We can go to the ninth circle of hell together. Get matching life vests for our romantic rowboating date in the lava. Your lady friend’s about to become a full-fledged [cuckquean](https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/cuckquean). Unless you’re actually poly. Which is super cool with me.” 

“What is a cuc — I don’t have a girlfriend, okay?” Spider-Man sounded defeated. Somehow, even in their cramped quarters, he was shrinking further and further. 

Even if this trope-y Fuck or Die situation was garbage, the information Deadpool was teasing out of Spider-Man was music to his ears. It was almost as if whoever engineered this room secretly knew all of his thoughts. Spider-Man possibly dying wasn’t cool though. He so had to get to work on preventing that right now.

“Anything else you want to admit to me?” Deadpool propped himself up on his arms and got up on his knees, so that he was no longer laying his head on Spider-Man’s chest and was instead face-to-face with him, cornering him further and further onto the floor. 

“No,” Spider-Man said mulishly. 

“You sure? Got some… secret writing accounts lil ol’ Pool isn’t aware of, maybe?” Their foreheads touched. His right hand just happened to curl itself against Spider-Man’s chest, and his knuckle dragged down right where his nipple was.

“No!” Spider-Man insisted.

“Seven minutes remaining.”

“Oh, I’ll find that Backflip douchebag one day. And spoon feed him his own entrails. Like a disemboweled toddler,” said Deadpool. He suddenly felt a hand grab a generous fistful of his ass. 

“Don’t gut anyone,” said Spider-Man breathily. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Deadpool kissed his forehead through his mask. “Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Pretty sure I've told you not to disembowel people dozens of times, actually."

Deadpool tried to reposition himself such that their crotches could touch. Then he realized Spider-Man was the ultra-bendy one. It would be far easier for him to adjust to his own position first than the other way around. 

Spider-Man apparently came to this realization at the same time. He brought his legs closer into himself, until they were on either side of his companion's shoulders. Deadpool brought himself into a seiza position, lining up his crotch exactly with the one of the man below him.

He unzipped his fly and pulled down his boxers, freeing his dick, while Spider-Man gingerly tugged down his own leggings. It wasn't a onesie? How did he match up the seams so perfectly that his suit looked like one? His brain was so massive. Nerds usually weren’t cute, but Spider-Man was a singular exception.

The blue bottoms slid down to reveal curly brown pubic hair (as Deadpool rightly suspected) and a perfectly normal cock, not large, not small, not thin, and not particularly chubby. It was the [Goldilocks porridge](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goldilocks_principle) of cocks. Deadpool had personally headcanoned Spider-Man as having a pencil dick to match the rest of his lean frame, but he never wrote about it because pencil dicks weren't hot. He was pleasantly surprised to be wrong. 

The fact that Spidey went commando was also interesting. 

"You're really making me self conscious here," said Spider-Man, his voice pitched strangely. Deadpool had been quiet for several moments now taking stock of Spidey’s Secret. "If you're going to write any more things about me, then make this part up."

They were both semi-hard. Spider-Man minutely adjusted his position so that their lengths were flush, then reached with both his hands to jerk them off. 

"Six minutes remaining."

Deadpool slapped his hands away. "I wanna do the touchies." 

"Are you seriously doing this right now?" Spider-Man asked exasperatedly. He watched Deadpool spit three times in his hands, laid his longer fingers over Deadpool's, and guided them to their touching, parallel dicks.

The strokes started out slow and evolved into a leisurely pace, the same as if Deadpool were pleasuring himself alone in his room to some mershark AU open on his phone. It was much slower than what would be expected in a life-or-death situation where being two-pump chumps was ideal. Spider-Man didn't seem to mind, the steady warmth of his hands through the gloves reassuring. Neither of them said anything to each other, the only noises in the room being those created from their friction or their own labored, heaving breaths. 

"Five minutes remaining."

It was no big deal. They were just frotting, jerking each other off. A mundane finish to all the fantastical fiction they'd read concerning the other, where all manners of fetishes and positions had been explored. But fiction could never recreate intimacy, the feeling that Spider-Man's eyes were probably half-lidded, the flush of his apparent physical desire for Deadpool, the way that he seemed to be okay with drawing this out to the point that them having sex might be the last thing he'd ever experience. 

Deadpool crowded further into Spider-Man's space. Since they were so close, he might as well push one more boundary. He lifted the bottom of his own mask to his nose, then did the same for Spider-Man, who startled slightly but otherwise made no move to stop him. One of his hands, still encircled in Spider-Man's own, continued pumping both of them lazily while he hesitantly placed a kiss on Spider-Man's lips. 

Then he did it again and again, Spider-Man even shoving his tongue past Deadpool's to taste him. He was incredibly aggressive in exploring Deadpool's mouth, almost territorial, like he'd been drowning and Deadpool was singlehandedly giving him all the oxygen he needed to stay alive.

Wow, Spider-Man was actually really into this.

"Four minutes remaining."

He was more than into this. It was at odds with the reluctant, hard-to-get pillow princess that Deadpool had played up in his mind. He was the older one here, and yet he felt Spider-Man's hot tongue eagerly seeking out his mouth, Spider-Man's strength overtake his in their shared grip, impatiently speeding up the pace towards their mutual impending climax.

They came together, and everything went white again.


	10. Chapter 10

When they woke up, they were on their backs against a concrete rooftop.

Spider-Man sat up. It was dark, and the light green glass awning of the Roosevelt Ave. subway station entrance across the street was almost indistinguishable from the dark green overpass framing it. 

He looked down at his suit, which was clean, save for a vaguely damp stain at the crotch. After what he and Deadpool had done in the white room, he didn’t remember it being that clean. 

He was surprised that whoever engineered that room didn’t wipe his and Deadpool’s memories or continue to keep them in captivity. If they were able to create surfaces that even Spider-Man and his several ton grip couldn’t break, then they were probably capable of other scientific evils.

It was almost as if the room had been set up specifically to make them engage in sexual relations for the first time.

“Convenient, huh?” Deadpool suddenly said next to him. 

“Very,” agreed Spider-Man, getting up on his feet. 

“I love plot devices!” Deadpool said brightly, mirroring the other’s movement and dusting off his pants. “If you don't mind, can we speed up to the part where we show each other our faces? I can go first!” 

“No,” Spider-Man said flatly. “All we did was jerk each other off so we wouldn’t die. I’m not showing you my face.”

“Is it because you’re secretly ugly?” Deadpool squinted at him. “I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but newsflash: I’m openly ugly.”

“I have a pretty good idea of what you look like, and I’m okay with it.” Spider-Man shrugged.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea,” said Deadpool. “There is so much more hiddy you don’t know about. You haven’t even seen how bacne can interact with my cancer to create an uncannily exact topographical copy of all the volcanoes on Mars. Forget sending rovers, NASA could study my asscrack.”

“Thanks for that mental image. Do you want me to not be okay with it?” asked Spider-Man crossly. 

“Well, you shouldn’t be.”

Spider-Man gave Deadpool a hard look. “The only thing I’m not okay with is the murdering.” 

“But I haven’t done it since you started babysitting,” said Deadpool, putting a finger to his quivering lip and drawing his knees together, like he was a [Precious Moments figurine](https://www.preciousmoments.com/figurines/love-inspired).

Spider-Man was silent for a while and fidgeted, like something was stuck in his throat.

Then, with his face turned away and in a tone tinged with nervousness, he finally said, “Am I going to have to make you an offer you can’t refuse to get you to give up your violent mercenary ways? Permanently?” 

“What do you propose, Webs?” Deadpool folded his hands under his chin conspiratorially. “I’ve read that story, by the way. Several stories. _Dance With the Dead_ is the one that does it best, IMO.” 

“That one? I stopped reading after the first chapter because I called someone a tosser in it,” said Spider-Man. His stomach felt like lead in his abdomen. “Anyway… if we…" He coughed, then forced himself to continue. "...Date, it’s not babysitting anymore, is it?”

Deadpool was silent for a while, as if he were in shock or ruminating. Then he slowly sounded out his words, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re… suggesting... that we d-word?”

“Yeah, we could do every association of the d-word, if you stop the killing thing.” Spider-Man tried to sound nonchalant, like he cared not a whit for the answer, when he never felt more violently ill from all the butterflies ramming themselves against his abdomen. 

When Deadpool spoke again, he felt all those butterflies instantly drop dead and crumble up into dust. “I’d love to, more than anything, but I can’t give up murder. I just can’t.”

His voice sounded disgustingly broken even to his own ears. “Why?”

It was stupid to believe in miracles, that people could change overnight, and yet, he'd somehow convinced himself it was possible. He should've known better from the start, nipped his interest in the bud, because at the end of the day, they stood on opposite sides of the moral spectrum. 

People only turned over new leaves that quickly in fiction.

Everything was a mistake. Meeting Deadpool, exchanging phone numbers, sweeping his eyes over him when he wasn’t looking, laughing over midnight meals together over all those months, engaging in an epically stupid online writing war, enjoying his company under the excuse of babysitting, not dying in that dumb white room. 

“Because that asshole Backflip is still out there, sitting on a fat pile of information about me, and I’ve got about fifty different revolvers with their name on it," said Deadpool.

Now Spider-Man just felt really stupid.

It was like they collectively had one brain cell. Maybe they deserved each other.

He seized Deadpool’s shoulders and shook him as if he were a ragdoll, expression manic under the mask. “Alright, alright! It’s me! Backflip underscore frontflip is me!”

“Wow. Why didn’t you just say so? Okay, I’ll never kill anything again,” said Deadpool. 

Spider-Man took his hands off Deadpool’s shoulders, eyes narrowed. “Wait, what? It’s that easy?”

“Yeah, dick heals everything. God, you really need to read more. What did they even teach you at college? Useless stuff like curing diseases? While you were going to school, I studied TVTropes. When you were eating ramen, I mastered gargling literary swill. While you wasted your days at the library in intellectual pursuit, I stayed up late fapping to vampire porn. [And now that the world is on fire](https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/001/276/749/286.jpg) — ”

“No, no, please stop,” begged Spider-Man, recognizing what Deadpool was quoting immediately.

“Is the cringe too much for you? You haven’t even seen one twenty-fifth of the cringe I’m capable of, baby.”

“I think I do know how much you’re capable of,” said Spider-Man, tone suddenly laced with a hint of danger. But then he went back to relaxing. “The night’s still young. Let’s get a move on.”

As Deadpool made to grab onto him, Spider-Man put out a hand to keep him at an arm’s length. 

"You're not getting piggyback privileges just because you saw my dick," said Spider-Man. "We're still going with the potato sack method." 

Honestly, he didn't know if he could handle feeling the hefty weight of Deadpool Jr. digging into his ass the rest of the evening and reminding him of what they'd gotten up to. The distraction would be too much, and he didn't want to accidentally smack into the pavement like a fly into a windshield. 

Deadpool pouted as a strong arm hefted itself under his tummy and he was whisked away to the next rooftop over.

* * *

* * *

When Deadpool walked back into his own apartment at 12:23 AM, he was, all in all, pretty pleased with how the night had gone. He quickly punched in the ten-digit code for his alarm which would trigger an explosion if the code was not entered correctly, then went to check the various tripwires around his apartment and next to his windows. None of them had been touched.

Spider-Man could not be any more perfect if he tried. [Noah Calhoun](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Notebook) and the [Scottish dreamboat in Outlander](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jamie_Fraser_\(character\)) could never. 

They had eaten arepas at a [Jackson Heights place](https://www.yelp.com/biz/arepa-lady-jackson-heights-4) that Spider-Man claimed was famous after stopping a few violent robberies, a single stabbing, and two impending car accidents. He’d also watched Spider-Man right a dilapidated traffic light pole as easily as snapping a straw back in place. The arepas _had_ been delicious, the corn and mozzarella combining into the perfect blend of griddled sweet and savory, finishing off one of the best nights in Deadpool's recent memory.

Oh yeah, they might've also been locked in a weird room that night. For a little bit? But it was no big deal.

“You should take me home,” Deadpool had said towards the end, when they’d finished their takeout meals. “I'm potty trained and physically incapable of shedding. I do make noise though, especially if you touch me funny."

“Cute, but no dice,” said Spider-Man, not unkindly. "It's a bit early for that."

Spider-Man's identity was guarded more fiercely than his life. As Deadpool currently was, he didn't deserve that confidence from the other man, and he knew it. They'd only scratched each other's surface, albeit at a level deeper than before.

Deadpool planted a fat, wet kiss onto his masked cheek. Spider-Man gagged slightly, then took the other man's face into his hands and kissed him properly. After they'd both been left breathless, he stared into Deadpool's eyes and said, his tone shifty, "You know, I kind of look forward to seeing the egg baby."

With those parting words, he patted Deadpool's shoulder and left. Deadpool made his way back to his own Morningside Heights apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. If he had gone by subway, it would've taken at least an hour to get back from Jackson Heights.

After making the required security rounds around his apartment, he went to check on one last thing. There was a certain wing of his living space that he had been feverishly working on over the past week. His Spider-Man-mandated murder cleanse meant he couldn't take jobs as frequently, which, combined with his lack of need for sleep, had left him with an immense amount of free time to burn. Sleeping was more of a hobby, as it was basically like experiencing death but not as painful and usually devoid of meeting any supernatural exes. In fact, it was almost like a [gacha game](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gacha_game). He could be getting a platinum rarity wet dream about you-know-who or just the regular bronze rarity nightmares about screaming himself into hoarseness while strapped down to a lab table. The [RNG](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Random_number_generation) for his subconscious was kind of shit, and he couldn't even [whale](https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Whaling) for more deliciously horny dreams.

The temporary release of sleep and [la petite mort](https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=la%20petite%20mort). Combined with his regularly scheduled actual dying, his life was practically a charcuterie board. Of death! Charcuterie boards were highly mediocre, in his opinion. Who the hell paid over forty dollars for a mound of cheese cubes and some ham slices? Maybe it was the rube in him talking, but he always preferred good ol' bacon to any unpronounceable meats. 

He went to inspect the remodeled wing for damage. It had formerly been Al’s room, but she’d moved out a while ago with his blessing. The space had been rearranged and retooled completely so that now it resembled a box, with no visible human-sized entrance whatsoever.

A white, approximately closet-sized box, with incredibly thick, adamantium-reinforced walls, wired with AI speakers, and sporting a small vent so that any living being inside wouldn’t suffocate. The vent could also be used to funnel in various gases if necessary. 

The only way inside the box was with a teleporter. And he had quite a few of those, in different sizes, aside from his belt, which was safely laid out to the side of the wing. He'd used one such smaller device to skip the subway ride back home. 

Another neat gizmo he had was a flashbang specifically for supers that could be set up with a timer. It affected him too, of course, but he was guaranteed to wake up much earlier with his superior healing factor, and thus be able to arrange everything to his liking.

He suspected Spider-Man knew. If he thought the threat was real, he’d be losing his mind over the unkillable living weapon that could result from a [super strong wall crawler and immortal being’s genes being combined](https://i.imgur.com/bXvQp2P.jpg). Instead, he carried on as normal, as if the incident had been little more than a blip. He was not bothered at all that he had been knocked unconscious and held captive under the false threat of death all for the sake of facilitating in real life the "You can only leave this room if you fuck" art trend Deadpool had seen on social media. Spider-Man really had been slapped upside the head too many times. Maybe Deadpool's speaker AI had been way too obvious with the egg baby line.

Spider-Man did turn out to be his kind of freak, and that’s all that mattered. Now that he knew Backdipshit was actually Spidey too, the story Spidey had written seemed less like a crumbly bread-textured threat and more like the most romantic thing he’d ever read in his life. Aww! Spider-Man jerked off to turning Deadpool over to the light. So cute. He’d also written that one weird comment saying Spider-Man thought Deadpool was more attractive than Wolverine on _Panic at the Crisco_. Deadpool would have to print that comment out and frame it on his wall. Maybe he’d even invite Wolverine over to gloat. Just kidding. Wolverine would never accept. 

The urge to spill blood still milled about in his veins, just as much as his cancer. But he had Spider-Man’s blessing to continue writing his bullshit, scratching some small itch for violence. He even suspected Spider-Man _liked_ reading about the gore and blood. Being a goody two shoes who had to tie his hands behind his back while assholes tried to kill him left and right probably meant he was repressed as fuck. 

Deadpool knew how to take care of that. In the meantime, the promise of Spider-Man's genuine affection stilled his trigger finger.

He was Spider-Man's outlet for rage and violence. Spider-Man was his outlet for love and a goodness inside him that he thought had died a long, long time ago. 

The other man had even converted almost overnight to getting off to degeneracy just for him, so he might as well try harder to not unalive things willy nilly. He didn't want to disappoint his future baby daddy and colostomy bag changer.

Murder for dick touches from his idol was a pretty sweet deal, all in all.

🍆🖤❤🖤🕷🖤❤🖤🍆  
  


You can go back to using Steven.  
  
  
And spreading the gospel of me with Wolverine.  
  
  
But you have to say I’m a redhead  
  
  
Who looks like that guy playing Archie on Riverdale  
  
  
Capisce?  
  
  
is that your ideal type  
  
  
tf  
  
  
Nah some article popped up on my feed and he was the first person I saw.  
  
  
I bet he could replace your Tom Helen or Andy Barfield or whatver as [Spider-Man halfway decently](https://www.seventeen.com/celebrity/movies-tv/a28482589/kj-apa-spider-man-audition/#:~:text=KJ%20Apa%20Says%20He%20Auditioned,was%20ultimately%20was%20not%20cast.)  
  
  
Also say that I smell like Old Spice  
  
  
u cant censor art  
  
  
this ia totalitarian  
  
  
[in soviet russia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Soviet_Russia) art censors u   
  
  
Says the guy who flipped his lid and made threats on my life bc I didn't write about him looking like a Greek god  
  
  
i was censoring u 4 teh ske of jumanity  
  
  
having 2 imagine my desiccated mussel looking ass sexz0rzing up anything is crjel n unsual punishmet  
  
  
[crime n punishmebt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_and_Punishment) if we wanna keep goin w the russia theme  
  
  
prt of my new campaign 2cllean up my act at ur behest  
  
  
looking like mr clean but w hair is part of ti  
  
  
Shucks...  
  
  
Guess I'll just have to keep your true beauty all to myself.  
  
  
btw ur fic is wrong. my sensual orbs r elctric blu  
  
  
like the [icehouse song](https://youtu.be/IUFOVu1CurM)  
  
  
feel free 2 serenade me w it at my winfow  
  
  
or at lwast mke that my ringtone on your phone   
  
  
can i write that u smell like dior homme  
  
  
Idk what that is but sure.  
  
  
its a $$$$ sex juuce  
  
  
also wete u makin fun of me w the true beauty commrnt  
  
  
its ok if u wer  
  
  
ttly fine  
  
  
im not pressed  
  
  
at all  
  
  
jw  
  
  
I wasn't. I've only seen your chin and lips. It's a rather nice chin. Could cut diamonds  
  
  
Ten out of ten.  
  
  
ur kdding ritew?  
  
  
No, but I could be if you want me to that badly  
  
  
[love the way u lie](https://youtu.be/uelHwf8o7_U)  
  
  
You're going to have to work on that buddy  
  
  
Ill thnik abt it  
  
  
still 2 busy processing the no murder tihng for anotjer task  
  
  
Sure, that can be your primary homework for now  
  
  
But jsyk if you're going to have a pity party I'm used to throwing them and can help  
  
  
.god  
  
  
ur so fickdd up  
  
  
like the msot ducked up person I ever met  
  
  
wat did I evet do 2 desrrve u  
  
  
I'll use an emoji next time I say you're pretty so you'll know I meant it.  
  
  
😊😊  
  
  
I have to know  
  
  
Do you really get off to thoughts of devouring my flesh  
  
  
wat  
  
  
Your recent messed up fanfiction  
  
  
oh the vore  
  
  
u go nuts n stsrt tearing in2 one of my clones  
  
  
thres gonna be a scene where u hv my blood all ovr ur mouth  
  
  
its romnsctic  
  
  
...I don't see it but ok.  
  
  
Maybe I'll be convinced if you write it.  
  
  
so ur not mad anymore that I revealed the truth abt ur jeight?  
  
  
For the last time  
  
  
I'm 5'10.  
  
  
ok ill put tnat white lie in jst 4 u  
  
  
F**k you  
  
  
yes pls 😩  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, this is the end. Thanks for reading and commenting! I'm incredibly grateful for all the encouragement you guys provided.
> 
> The original ending was much more fluffy and less dubious (just them hanging out somewhere in NYC and confessing to each other about shitting around online and then kissing, the end, no locked room escapades) but why not go off the rails just a little? LMAO. 
> 
> Will probably go back and edit more in the future since I find this work super rushed and much less thought out compared to my previous, but we'll see. Putting something out even if it's imperfect is better than working on something forever to make it perfect, right? I generally love identity porn but I would like to stop here.


End file.
